At seven years of age 
The space behind my house 
Was wild and untamed, 
Wild thorn bush fences 
Surrounding the little creek, 

Then the contractors came in 
And cut down the spaces in between 
The trees, and suddenly the world 
Opened up. The pine needle carpet 
only stretched to ten feet. 

Yet now the unexplored could be explored. 
Not an inch of the elf’s kingdom 
Was overlooked on my mental map. 
Tents made of rotten sticks 
Fox skull buried in the mud.

A new shed, stone rivers 
Fairy garden, blueberry bushes 
Tree house, a fire pit, metal chairs 
Grape vines, red-wood deck 
Seahorse bird bath to decorate the back

Straight lines, fresh paint and 
Ferns, newly bought from the store. 
My backyard was a suburban garden 
With a green-glass mosaic overhead, 
Lit with fireflies when the sun went down.

Now seventeen, ten years I've 
Lived at my house. The best time 
To go out is in the morning 
Blue shadows and sleepy rays, 
soaked grass and the smell of mulch.

Broad-leaved ivy crawl around the 
Remains of the seahorses, oak trees 
Are trying to grow in the middle 
Of the stone patio, moss and lichen 
Reign supreme, even on the wind chime.

The creek and I are old friends, 
I knew everything about it once 
But now the eroded sides and 
Poison oak banks look different. 
And I'm not one to play anymore.

But the gum-ball covered hammock 
Keeps me company— the birds and 
The occasional neighborhood kitty cat 
Does too— I sit where ever, and think of 
nymphs hiding in the woods behind me,

Honestly, there must be magic in my backyard 
Or maybe it's another dimension. How can 
Little tadpoles grow in a broken bird bath, 
Strawberries grow in the woodpile 
Beetles find a home next to a lawn mower?

Are there fairies hiding in the little brown 
Clay pots underneath the shed? That make 
The green light point in such a way that 
Turns the decay back into the flowers I 
Planted so long ago? The pink ones maybe?

My garden, so orderly and tame has changed, 
The red wood turned green and sags underfoot 
others call it neglect, so be it, I'd never change 
How the grapes took over the trellises or the 
Sparrows nestling a home in the fire pit

Days of heavy rain, summer heat, layers 
Of leaves and pollen dust; time stays 
Very still here and yet suddenly the 
Oak tree has grown to my knees and I'll 
Sit down, thinking about mermaids in my creek.