sidewalk hearts.

my feet used to ache,

running barefoot on pavement still warm from the day,

as if time couldn’t catch us if we couldn’t catch our breaths.

if we just moved fast enough.

and someone’s speaker played the same three songs

sticky leather car seats until the words and the salty breeze became one.

and the skies, oh the cotton candy skies laughed with us till we stitched our ribs

danced with us till the world was still

and we were spinning 

left us till we skinned our hearts

when the future was a cloud— just let it hover, 

a yellow of the porch light

as i drew a three winged butterfly on your arm 

with my 12 pack of glitter pens

you had told me, as you braided with

precision too sharp for a 7 year old’s 

“one day will be the last time i brush your hair,”

 but i was too busy being 

invincible to believe you.

now the silence feels louder 

than the summers ever did. 

i scroll through photos for

proof they were real

for proof that once, 

the night was ours and

the world was small enough to hold

kicking our feet in bed.

for the times when the chalk from the sidewalk

was not just the dust of who we used to be

when the chalk from the sidewalk was brand new

baby pink and still in the cradle.