Evenings

Do you remember those September evenings we spent together in the playground?  
The shiny rock we put in our pockets and the ugly little rocks that got lodged in our heels.
The plastic slide that went into the sandbox that made your hair go like exclamation marks.
The little clovers with heart-shaped leaves that tasted like soap smell.
The day we waited two hours for the man to come turn on the sprinkler.

Do you remember, many years later, when you and me went to camp in the mountains?
The August evening to nights we spent with everyone else sitting in the hammocks.
The Friday nights when I would wear a hat and we would sing and pray and dance.
The times we left to go on hikes, and you would braid my hair because I was scared of lice.
The day we came back and told each other stories about how far you had to hike and how heavy my backpack was
The night befor we had to go home, far away from each other, and we stayed up all night and you hugged me and cried and cried and I didn’t and I should have and I’m sorry.