Lemonade at the End of a Buzzing Day
Update: 2025-07-26
Description
I was reading poet Joy Sullivan's book of burnished sepia-tinged poems "Instructions for travelling west", and followed the footsteps of her poems into my childhood. Trying to catch the magic without sinking into syrupy nostalgia. And was amazed at how much I remembered - the games, the bruises, the sweat, the moths, ice-cold drinks - and just that feeling of unencumbered joy.
But much more than that was the closeness of friends - we were thick as thieves - and the refusal to break friendships because one of us was nasty to the other. We knew facts, and just swallowed them and moved on.
I think we learnt accumulation much later. The layers of anger and resentment and helplessness which, as time went by, made us smaller versions of what we possibly could be.
It was an irony of sorts - how we were much bigger when we were smaller.
I think normal childhoods glow because we have memories of goldfish for hurts.
Where did we lose it all?
When did we learn to layer our existences with slights and notions of unforgettable pain? When did we think memories are given to us to remember the worst of what life brings to us? We are supposedly the most intelligent creatures on this earth, and we let ourselves be buried under debris rather than stardust.
We are the privileged summer of fireflies, the vaunted recipients of a sheltering sky, we can crush flowers in our palms and know of its perfume, we can slip shoes and walk outside to save ourselves from scars.
Maybe it's time to reclaim the glow, which our lives have lost to the neon we thought showed the way to us.
If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems on the luminosity of childhood -
Get in touch with me on uncutpoetrynow@gmail.com
The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -
Imagefilm015 by Sascha Ende
Link: https://filmmusic.io/en/song/imagefilm015
Licence: https://filmmusic.io/standard-license
But much more than that was the closeness of friends - we were thick as thieves - and the refusal to break friendships because one of us was nasty to the other. We knew facts, and just swallowed them and moved on.
I think we learnt accumulation much later. The layers of anger and resentment and helplessness which, as time went by, made us smaller versions of what we possibly could be.
It was an irony of sorts - how we were much bigger when we were smaller.
I think normal childhoods glow because we have memories of goldfish for hurts.
Where did we lose it all?
When did we learn to layer our existences with slights and notions of unforgettable pain? When did we think memories are given to us to remember the worst of what life brings to us? We are supposedly the most intelligent creatures on this earth, and we let ourselves be buried under debris rather than stardust.
We are the privileged summer of fireflies, the vaunted recipients of a sheltering sky, we can crush flowers in our palms and know of its perfume, we can slip shoes and walk outside to save ourselves from scars.
Maybe it's time to reclaim the glow, which our lives have lost to the neon we thought showed the way to us.
If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems on the luminosity of childhood -
- Those Days of a Lost Summer
- On Growing Up (that haze of sunshine & dust)
- Letting Go (a childhood song)
Subscribe to my newsletter 'The Uncuts'
Follow me on Instagram at @sunilgivesup.
Get in touch with me on uncutpoetrynow@gmail.com
The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -
Imagefilm015 by Sascha Ende
Link: https://filmmusic.io/en/song/imagefilm015
Licence: https://filmmusic.io/standard-license
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