Popcorn

There’s this song,

Slipping Through My Fingers.

By ABBA. From Mamma Mia!

That's how I see it.

Our rights.

“I try to capture every minute.”

imagine this:
us, walking barefoot through the wreckage of melted roads
the sun carving epitaphs into a sky too scorched for rain.

They say the world was once wider, 
measured in scraped knees and firefly nights, 
in the space between streetlights, 
where time was counted in the hush before dinner. 

When I think about tomorrow, 

I see the calculus test I have not studied for 

and the five overdue assignments with long-received 

I miss the days 

When we would run through the fields 

And swim in the pond all day 

Smiling and using kayaks 

I miss the nights