The smell of chlorine and freedom lives sharp in my mind.
I could recreate our bonfire dances for you.
But how can you not remember?
It is as if July slipped away, replaced
by fraying textbooks and burnt ramen soup.
I feel it on the soles of my feet: Pavement.
Burning. Solid. Neighborhood cement and chalk.
Remember this: We pretended we started a tribe of
kid bandits in the woods behind my house. We listened for
deer and tried to drown out the highway. Intrusive in
our fantasies, we knew the snow was magic and would
catch its blare. Do you remember? Frayed size 5 cleats,
Tate’s old Honda truck, cannonballs into icy blue water.
The dream of a generation written into the knees of children.
Time capsules in their grinning cheeks. Our slender youth.
We could hold onto it forever with this memory.
A year etched into minds, frozen in numbers.