The silver 1968 Ford pickup
Sitting idle in the driveway,
my grandfather leaning out the window waving,
I smile with bright blue lips, clutching the remnants of a raspberry Otterpop.
A laugh bursts from my grandmother and carries through the heavy, hot air.
Giggling, I skip towards the corner of the sidewalk
crouching down, I place my calloused hand over the mold of my mom's
A relic that capture the smallness of her hand as a child
I imagine my mom riding her bike, just like me,
hair in two braids, whipping around each turn

I imagine her enjoying a juicy peach on the porch,
begging to stay outside just a little while longer
my hand traces her fingerprints carefully,
before i turn and run barefoot back to my patio chair
the cricket hum and calm my sugar-rushed heart
the wind whips through the aspen trees,
as the sun sets over the horizon, casting a hazy orange through the canyon

Sighing I clutch my knees and dream
completely unabashed, innocent and naive dreams
Holding on to my hope
Holding on to the fantasies over summer days