lying on her belly, she felt nine years old
(remember getting out of the pool and warming up on the edge?
one ear down, chlorine-flavored droplets
drying as soon as they hit?)
head still, silent tears coursed down
pooling between her freckled, weathered, notnineanymore cheek
and the scraped/stained concrete
trying to answer back normally
as unbelievable comments about mostly-eaten peanut butter sandwiches
and more believable comments about hummingbirds landing on heads
lit like bumblebees and took off again
she forced two deep breaths
like aspen leaves holding on
in, out, in--
but she wouldn't let it back out
or else the notyetsummer breeze would carry away
all the years before today
--t. scarlet
