Coco

My hand lingers on the door frame, atoms of space between my fingertips and the shiny wood. My eyes skim the room from side to side, window to window. It’s small but it feels big at the same time.

If purple is the hardest color
For the eye to see
Then maybe all us purple-lovers
Are seers to the fairylands
Where dawn spirits sing
And poet bells ring
Harbingers of the night
To our awaiting ears.

Do you remember

The games of soccer

At the park?

 

Do you remember

The night we created our book series

Roasting smores over a firepit?

It’s where we took that first picture

"Perfect" said the critics 

"Awful" says the boy

"It tastes like diarrhea, oh how I hate bok choy"

But something 'bout his eyes make everything okay, 

Even if his food choices make me start to decay