In summer, just as twilight snuggled in each night, we waited in blueing light for the twinkling of bells. A silly jingling tolled out like a cathedral’s carillon ringing, calling believers in their flip-flops to gather. Grabbing quarters bright as chrome, we scrambled outside and raced to catch the slowly passing truck. In our neighborhood—then as now—a magical ghostly van oozed along our street on clouds of pebble sprinkles. A white-haired, mustached, jolly man put on his brakes. Stopped. At the foot of our own pitted asphalt driveway. He pried open a freezer door. Fished inside to fill each want. What elven treasures this magus conjured right before our eyes! For mom, a Toasted Almond Bar. For dad, crunchy Cookies N Creme. Strawberry Shortcake. Coconut. A sticky orange Creamsicle. Before Grub Hub’s or Door Dash’s vast choices of waitless pleasure, this nightly ritual mesmerized us as porch lights hypnotized moths. Today, a different driver makes his rounds in a knock-off pickup. Same streets. Same tinny music box siren song. Same fevered rush for cash. Same honeyed marvels hand-delivered like rare white truffles or black watermelons to our home’s enchanted portal. Which was sweeter, anticipation or the sugary post-supper treats? Either one’s a relic to times past when simple wonders held us fast. ///// Jo Pitkin holds an M.F.A. from the University of Iowa’s Writer’s Workshop. She is the author of a poetry chapbook and four full-length collections, editor of Lost Orchard: Prose and Poetry from the Kirkland College Community (2014), and associate editor of Lost Orchard: Nonfiction from the Kirkland College Community (2021). Jo works as a freelance educational creating materials for K - 12 students and teachers, and she is a teaching artist at The Poetry Barn. Her poem “Good Humor” is from a manuscript that she is currently writing about the unique lake community where she grew up.
For me, Creamsickle, too. Thanks!
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