what happens when the gentle tides of childhood

carry driftwood tragedies out of sight

and human memory glazes over

crackling sour notes with sugar?

 

cotton candy tendrils

drift into summer air as

mouths touch,

hands hold.

suspended in time

we fly.

 

if my shoulder blades could grow wings

with the ease of a politician sprouting horns,

hand on the holy book

making hellish promises in the dark,

i believe i’d trade my soul

to be carried far off from the age of eighteen.

 

take me back to my angel days

when mama would sing me showtunes

as baba rolled dumpling dough downstairs

when life didn’t tumble so far forward

in cadences

and we found peace 

floating 

in presentness.

 

flying was always my superpower of choice,

to be both butterfly and bee

light, sweet, soft, stinging

as my heels sink deeper into

adulthood and demise, i recall my mystical mornings

abandon gravity.

 

close my eyes.