Spring Onions
When I was young I
would pick these small
white bulbs, with long
green hair, from the
soil of my grandpa’s yard.
When I was young I
would pick these ripe
red apples, from the
crooked limbs of the
dying crab apple tree.
When I was young I
would walk along the
slippery sides of this
great big pond and
hunt for frogs and fish.
When I was young I
would pick the emerald
beetles off the weeping
willow and stuff them in
pockets for my mother.
When I was young I
felt the Earth below my
feet and its seed between
my soft careful fingers that
grabbed for more and more.
When I was young the
world was full of blue and
it was full of yellow.
It was full of songbirds
and sweet purple meadows.
When I was young the
spring onions were my
gift from God and the
sun a sitter to watch me play.
Kiley Kerns is a junior at SUNY Oswego, double majoring in psychology and creative writing with a minor in expressive art therapy. She intends to attend graduate school for clinical psychology while getting her writing published on the side. She spends her free time romanticizing everything and making Pinterest boards. If Kiley could get brunch with any author dead or alive—it’d be Anne Sexton.