Mud Pies–dVerse Poetics

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Mud Pies

When we were young, two little ones at play,
our families thought that we belonged together,
so sweet, like milk and honey.

Sticks were our bows and arrows, then
Look closely. See that scar you gave me,
reminders of a rough-house game of kick-the-can.

When we played house (you acquiesced),
“That’s not a game for boys,” you said,
so I said nothing when you fed mud pies .
to my beloved, fair-haired doll.

Now, in my garden, thoughts of you swirl in the loam
—the scents of clay, the grainy texture of dank earth.
No longer play, but poignant memories tinged
with just a hint of sadness, just a hint of wondering

what might have been, had you not died so young?

I’m tripping back sixty-some years to a time when, living in a rural area, my only neighbor was a boy, a year or two my senior. We played together in the wild outdoors. He made a tomboy of me and I tried to domesticate him. I would be writing an epic poem if I tried to recount all our exploits.

I recall so well, after we had moved away, one evening during dinner (we were eating chop suey) the phone rang and I learned that my dear playmate, at the time only about 13 years old, had been crushed to death when he and a buddy had climbed a fence and tried to ride an oil well.

Please join us at dVerse Poetics where Bjorn invites us to play with words and dirt.

27 thoughts on “Mud Pies–dVerse Poetics

  1. . A lovely story of mud pies but so sad to lose a childhood friend so young.


  2. kenneth says:

    . A lovely story of mud pies but so sad to lose a childhood friend so young.


  3. lynn__ says:

    Mud pies…a universal childhood recipe! Wonderfully tender memories; a tragic loss for friends and family. Love how you told this story, Victoria.


  4. Beautifully written and oh so sad.


  5. M says:

    how terribly sad ~


  6. rosross says:

    We all played in the mud in times past. I am not sure anyone comes to terms with children dying young.


  7. Very powerful poem. I love the way you weaved nostalgic memories with the pain of loss. Accolades!

    Liked by 1 person

  8. It’s ironic that you use the simile of milk and honey in a poem about mud pies. And yet so perfect…


  9. how dangerous is derring-do at times – very visual and a pleasing playful epitaph to your childhood buddy


  10. maria says:

    Ah, this took me back to my childhood. But I’m saddened to hear the memories you had of playmate.. Beautifully nostalgic piece.


  11. kim881 says:

    A lovely story of mud pies but so sad to lose a childhood friend so young.


  12. Singledust says:

    i too recall making mud pies and trying to feed my sister. though sad, his memory lives on through your words and stories.


  13. Tournesol says:

    Such vivid images of your playtime together…truly you could write a novella with your sweet memories. A lovely and touching tribute to a wonderful friend.


  14. Waltermarks says:

    That’s a beautiful memorial to your childhood friend. Mud pies and dolls. It sounds like you had a wonderful friend


  15. sanaarizvi says:

    I am so sorry for your loss, Victoria. This is a beautiful tribute.


  16. Truedessa says:

    I was reminded of making mud pies at my grandmother’s house and leaving them in the sun to dry. I can still remember picking them up hoping they wouldn’t crumble in my hands.

    So, sorry about the loss of a friend.


  17. I’m so sorry for your loss, no matter how long ago. This poem reminds me of playing with my younger brother, except I admit now, I was the one who climbed up to get Mom’s good dishes… You guessed it, to serve mud pies. 🙂


  18. Beautiful poem, sad and nostalgic.


  19. Grace says:

    What a sad ending to the story of your friend Victoria ~ Your mud pies and rough house games remind me of my growing up years ~
    Those were the sweet times to remember ~


  20. Glenn Buttkus says:

    A fabulous write, endearing, stirring, rife with the bitter-sweet nostalgia of misty past–really transported me to my two stints living on farms as an adolescent (without wi-fi & techno addictive diversions) when my playmates and I would ride horses, play handball in the barn, or build a tree fort–no boredom, memories as fecund as loam, as rich as top soil


  21. Sweet memories, and sadness. My only playmate was a neighbor boy, too, and we used to make mud pies and put our initials on them in corn kernels. Ah, so long ago!


  22. frankhubeny says:

    I remember making mud pies as a child. I tried to sell them to my brother, not that we had any real money to trade. He tried to sell his back to me. It is dangerous playing on things that lie around farms. I am sorry for the loss of your childhood friend.


  23. I echo Björn’s words, your poem brings back my childhood in its muddy glory!


  24. Sue says:

    Oh what a harrowing write…


  25. Sad memories, and somehow appropriate that you associate them with earth.


  26. This is so poignant, so sad when kids die young. Playing can be dangerous and I do remember a few times when I could have fell when climbing or similar. The image of feeding mud-pies to your doll to compensate for playing girl-play made me smile a bit.


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