I don't know where you went but you left something here

by amy sharp


We would climb the tree higher than squirrels and sit with our backs against thick old bark that left impressions in our soft skin. We would talk about things that must have been important then. All of the secrets of childhood that are probably the answers to everything but we just can't remember them now. We would sit there until they yelled for us to come and eat dinner. And when we walked away from each other and into linoleum floored kitchens we would have no idea that we were just catapulted into the future.