My tongue is hiding somewhere behind my tonsils.

She smiles her wide, toothy grin
And hops around in a bluish sun dress,
Entertaining her toddler cousins on the neighbor's zip line.
I was too big for that even when they first built it.
Wasn't she?

It's been a few years since we've talked,
But the boundary between one and a million
Has never been blurrier.
I feel the lump in my throat,
Squirming, apprehensive,
Although I don't really know why.

She turns and looks at me with those familiar brown eyes,
Twirls a lock of her brown hair,
Stretches out her arms
And I don't know where I am anymore.
In her left hand she cradles a purple box.
It's a gift.
For me?
"Aw, thank you."
I'll open it when I get home.
I need some time to stew
Over the years I doubted everything about myself,
When we were growing and changing
And I needed you to stay the same.

Two hours later, sitting alone in my living room,
The Food Network humming beneath, like a film score,
I open the gift.

And there's a pictureframe
With a concrete porch, a kiddie pool, and the two of us
Standing there smiling.

She remembers, too.
Last edited by flame843 at Jul 11, 2009,