Summer Days, Summer Days

When I was small enough
that any laurel hedge
was an arbor,
the world came along with me,
silent as road tar
on the sole of my sneaker.
All the names of flowers were one name,
and the colors of sky
were blue, and blue.
When my mother called,
I didn't answer.
The laurel leaves were large as postcards.
With a stick, I traced across a leaf
the letters of my name.