Reading Aloud

As she called on me to read 

aloud, a memory swirled warm 

like a summer breeze across the deep 

Atlantic: rocking on a black-and-white

checked chair by a gas fireplace

where my Mom opened Robert 

Frost and we memorized 

poems together. She sat 

close to the flames and melted 

a hole in her navy-blue

bathrobe. My red-haired

brother stuck silly-putty 

between the bricks of the fireplace 

and Mom made him scrub 

it clean with a toothbrush.

As we practiced the lines,

the baby slept and the toddler 

played with bright board books 

on the floor and we all ate

frozen Michigan blueberries

until our lips stained purple 

and we stuck out our tongues. 

Noel Vanderbilt