I remember a time when
We waded in the creek
digging for the smoothest rocks
nestled in the murky sand below
the ones that leaked red and blue and green
We would drag them on our cheeks
and arms to decorate our bodies
with muddy war paint.
We would play in the field
And grab handfuls of dandelions.
I would put them in your hair and
Your’s in mine.
We’d blow the seeds as far as we could.
And summer would last forever
“it only takes one seed
To make at least a hundred more flowers”, I told you once
but you didn’t believe me.
We soaked in the sun and ate popsicles
My legs had hair already and yours were still bare.
Both of our feet looked the same
ruddy with blisters, cuts and mosquito bites.
Years later it was summer again
but your eyes had long frozen over
I held dandelions tall and wispy
Beneath your lips , but you turned away
That stuff is childish, you said
The imagery and notions of being young friends was palpable – and the idea of how friendships can change with time, was poignant.