2

Undoing
chains wrapped around
the box in my mind
that houses my conceptions
on what this should look like,
what you should sound like,
to learn a new way
of deciphering this will.
You're the first page
of a new book,
full of promise and adventure
begging me to keep reading
and I won't hesitate to say
that I'd be happy to oblige.

In The Summer

In the summer
we used to take our mason jars
with the holes in the lids,
down to the bog
where we'd chase the lights
that flew in the night,
catching them, one by one.

We ran through the mud,
the grass and the moss,
with our shoes that lit up
whenever you took a step.
And we ignored the streetlights,
and all our mosquito bites,
because they marked the time to go home.

With our chubby fingers
and our starry eyes,
we searched for more
than what we could learn in books.
Imagination, of a different kind,
an opening, of a creative mind,
we wanted more, more, more.

In the summer
we claimed what was ours,
with a young tenacity
and an innocent strength.
And even when our mother's called,
and our nightly adventures were quickly stalled,
we were still children.

We were children.