I was born in the summer
Under mosquito nets and the sweltering heat
Unique to July the same way my childhood was
Like no other.
I think about all of it often,
Too often, maybe
The ball pits and scraped slides
The tiny yellow flowers that grow on lawns
Above soil that has felt growing shoe sizes.
You tag along to my thoughts
Nimble-footed through my mind.
I find you cruel at times, cruel with your
Tiny pink dresses, tiny pigtails
Why look back? You would say
When there are things in front of your eyes
You don’t turn away from the theater screen
To watch the movie blindly
I despise how the simplicity of your explanations
When I have grown to have cotton fill my head.
I loathe the easiness of your short life
When my hands and mind have become calloused
Cold at times, lackluster to your innocent takes.
You would pout, with tiny pink lips
In your tiny pink dress and tiny pigtails
Your eyes so much like mine, too much
Water would run down your cheeks and you would say
Why are you like this?
I don’t know. Maybe it’s your fault. Maybe it’s mine.
I can forget my bloodies knees and battered face
But only when I’m looking back at you.
Maybe I won’t be able to see the movie
But you will tell me what you see, won’t you?
The same way you looked forward to me.
You can be the eyes in the back of my head
And the smile that warms the summer
Reaching little hands where I can no longer go.