I don’t remember the day This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

By
I don’t remember the day you finally grew taller than me,
Or when your voice finally changed

so Mom and Dad didn’t confuse us over the phone -
Baby-fine golden hair and cornflower blue eyes,
Crayon colors; and I remember the smells
Of coloring Kelly Green, and Jimmy Fire-Engine Red,
The make-believe color so you wouldn’t be jealous -
And I don’t remember the last time
We went exploring together, we terrestrial cartographers,
Dirt smudged in the whorls of our fingertips,
Building forts in lonely trees and rafting on planks of plywood -
You ran away with me once
Our brown paper suitcases filled with toy cars
And peanut-butter sandwiches with the crusts still on
It was a messy escape - jam everywhere -
But we were happy, sticky and purple in July’s heat.
Summer days with you slipped by,
And I,
More grown than you (but shorter, too)
Know now what I always knew - Love, unlike memory,
Does not fade into murky sunlight.


This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.






Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback