these snapshots in time
of being a child but swearing
that you’re not one.
I can feel the gravel under my feet
as we snuck out of the cottage
and ran to the beach, barefoot
the air was heavy, humid
I was young, wild
I can’t imagine the fear the adults felt
when they checked on our beds and we
but I can imagine the way the summer
breezed through my hair
like pages of a book in the wind
the moon parallel to the crown of my head
the ocean crashing at my feet
and the cellphone I didn’t own yet.
I swear I can still smell the salt on my skin some nights
just before I fall asleep
until a notification buzzes
and it’s back to work.