Chains of childhood could set us free

Eyelids dropped like curtains, and so it began.

The world was beautiful and old, but everything was new to us.

It was a book whose spine was broken

Because we’d opened it so many times.

And our illiterate minds didn’t stop us from writing every story

just to find it scribed in the pages of all our adventures so long passed.

Bare feet upon barren earth,

We hadn’t learned that worms were dirty

So we let them dance through our fingers,

Sewing tales that were older than the trees.

We were free from the roots that anchored our elders like alders—

Tumbleweeds in desert storms, we rode like cowboys

and hid like Indian summers.

We took three steps back, drew pistols, and fired.

Bang! Drop dead tired in the grass, drew long breaths,

and drew anything the clouds could grow into.

I hid and you sought out

every secret I’d ever buried with army men

in my backyard. You said you could be the cop

and lock up all of my fears. I told you I’d be the robber

who stole you away from everything

that tried to make lost kids found.

They were they days when we could sit at a table for hours

and pretend anything into being. Reality was childish

but our Imaginations were wildly true.

Those days when rainbows were our favorite color

Because Martin’s movement seemed silly

and klans of panthers seemed impossible.

When the rules of physics did not apply

And even if they did, we they didn’t weigh us down.

But now they have, and I miss the days when we were young.