We called it Red Hill,
but it was no hill,
just a mound of clay
where we ran in joy
because it was ours.
No adult came there
so we were child free
to play and invent
a world far from his
that held no malice,
or words of anger;
never a fist raised
to strike mother's face.
Roger Barbee is a retired educator living on Lake Norman in North Carolina with his wife, one hound, and four cats. His words have appeared in the Washington Post, the Birmingham Arts Journal, Page & Spine, Memoir Magazine, Rain Taxi, Potato Soup Magazine, Ailment, New Southern Fugitive, and other print or on-line publications. His poetry chapbook, Applewood Street, was published in 2022 by Plan B Press. He is a regular contributor to The Sports Column and encouragingu.com.