Like the sunrise, we woke up early

that sentimental summer day.

As my sister and I stumbled

towards the car

where my dad waited, the scarlet hue

of the sunlight grew brighter

and brighter. We headed towards Chicago with

my dad driving and my sister and me falling asleep

in the back.

I was eight. With no responsibilities.

We stopped in Chinatown.

Some quick dim sum at a noodle place with

welcoming wafts of goodness

through the air.

With a sigh of relief as the food

arrived,

my sister and I smiled at each other in

anticipation.

I was eight. With no responsibilities.

We departed for the man’s house where

we would leave with an adopted puppy.

Cocoa.

What a sophisticated dog --

with his sleek brown coat and white collar.

All my siblings and I talked about

that week was

Cocoa.

I was eight. With no responsibilities.