The Years of Girl Cheese Sandwiches

by Meia Geddes

Those were the years of eyeing honey sticks
at the farmer’s market under the highway—
clover, orange, wildflower. Family friends with
a pomegranate tree—the trick is to open them
underwater—others with walnuts, apples, avocado.
Overflowing harvests given to us in the heavy seasons.
Those were the days of Asian pears when I came
to know a new kind of sweetness. Of girl cheese
sandwiches because mom didn’t correct me,
and my second cousin wondering if everyone at
Thanksgiving was a lesbian. Those were the years
of three-hour weekend trips to the land of strawberries,
all the adults asking what do you want to be when
you grow up? And why did I leave. What could be
more sure than an olallieberry pie, those ducks
beneath the orange trees, all the memories that cling
honeysuckle sweet. The ones I hold in my palms for
safekeeping. How did I leave and what did I think.
Always somewhere to go, something else to be. I knew
generations of German Shorthair Pointers, a page-
long gift list for my village of women on our trips—
postcards an essential part of the journey. Watermelon
seed spitting contests. A winding road lined with oaks,
to days spent plucking purple periwinkles to sip on.
Chewing yellow-flowered sour grass, bunches at a time.

Meia Geddes lives in Boston as a librarian, writer, and artist. A recipient of a Fulbright grant, she is the author of The Little Queen and Love Letters to the World. Her website is meiageddes.com.