the flowers bloomed swimming pool blue outside.
although we were small, our steps
cracked the concrete,
our fists thrown across our chests
in sashes of honor. being little
was easy because life was a series of yes, no, good, bad;
we felt things but could not recognize them. now, sometimes
i like to watch black and white film
and wonder how different things must have tasted in color;
it's like that now, when i stand by the little
tree in the middle of the cul de sac and think of
how big it must have seemed years ago.
