I remember when mornings smelled black
with a little sugar and sounded all cool
breeze on the radio, when play meant footraces
and tree-falls and scars,when friends were little
league and neighbors and knuckle sandwiches,
when lunch was mud pie
dirty-faced sitting on the back steps
was sticky fingers was ditched
hot wheels and green plastic troops,
when afternoons were swimming pools
and held breath (a lot like later, like love),
when dinner meant together meant slow
down meant replay the day
and silverware wasn’t a question
(wasn’t missing, like later, like her)
didn’t end up in glove boxes,
when evening meant kick-
the-can hide-and-seek cram
as much into each grain
meant stories, when
a parent’s smile didn’t sink
in a glass at the end of the day
and kisses floated
like ghosts over foreheads
and nightlights were the only thing
you needed to keep out the dark,
when the sun woke before you
and mornings were scrambled and orange
and each one filled you up.

(first published in poeticdiversity)