Our small hands
with dirt under our fingernails,
scraped up knees,
and unbrushed hair.
We lift up rocks,
uncovering ants and worms
from their dark hiding place,
holding up the
biggest ones we can find.
They squirm in our hands,
struggling to climb back into
their cool dirt home.
Colored chalk
dusts our clothing.
Wide smiles decorate
our round faces.
We are unashamed.

Painted nails,
short skirts,
and hair braided loosely.
Boys with bikes,
Basketballs,
and baseballs
run around the
cul-de-sacs.
The girls sit under the trees
in the damp grass
and talk about boys,
and laugh a little too loudly.
We are the bad examples.
Playing pranks,
and breaking things.
We wouldn’t make it.

Now the streets are empty.
The grass has grown long and thick;
There are no more feet to trample it.
They went their ways,
I went mine.
We exchange small smiles,
if we ever see each other,
but rarely do we speak.