Article voiceover
During daylight hours, my cousins, the cruel ones, threw firecrackers into the ant pile behind the old school building but my brother and I, the kinder cousins, only shot bottle rockets at each other. Then we ate hot dogs and chips. After sundown, all of us Indian kids ran through the dark with sparklers burning in our hands. I once held on too long and burned my palm. I kissed the singed skin. For us Indian kids, there always seemed to be a little bit of pain when we got too close to freedom.
Ouch!! A painful ending!!
Back after a month offline - a treasure trove of Sherman poems await. I love this one - childhood innocence with a twisting knife that hits the bone.