shivalihp

It all started at dinner.
We heard it while cooking. 
We heard it while eating.
“BUZZ BUZZ!,” it went. 
We covered our food as I grabbed the fly swatter.
But alas, he kept flying higher and higher.

When the children of America go to school,

We expect them to come back.

We expect them to run up from the bus stop,

Keychains jingling,

Mouth filled with stories about their day.
What we do not expect

In sixth grade, our class had a show-and-tell every week,
and every week, a small handful of students were selected to participate in the next one.
As I was selected, anxiety kicked in.
I wasn't really proud of anything.

I miss girlhood.
My bones ache with the longing of it,
The way that our legs would swing
Around the metal of the monkey bars
Warmed by the afternoon sun
Shoved uncomfortably under our knees,
Our hands reaching for the mulch.