I bend down to wipe dirt
from my ruffle socks,
as a pair of big orange
Nikes come into my field
of view. I look up through the haze
of tangerine sun. We walk
through the soccer field, summit the hill
to the space where they took out the swings
(too dangerous for us)
passing Mike, the after-school supervisor,
on the incline, grin sticky with green candy,
You want some? Too bad.
Can’t help ya. Against the rules. I don’t care this time,
I have a new friend and we hop-scotch
our way to the monkey bars, dangle, invert.
Mom dressed me in tiny
shorts under my skirt
for just this reason. All the blood rushes
to our heads as we talk
and only-child giggle. Nike shoes
is in Mrs. Long’s class—she lets
her favorites rub her feet during story hour—
I can’t wait till I’m in fifth grade.
I’m still learning how to read:
F-O-X, S-T-O-P, B-O-Y.
Mom must be coming soon
to pick me up, but I don’t think
about that—sitting on the top of the world.
Nike shoes looks at me, never seen a look
like this before, maybe I’m older now?
I like this feeling, high up, sun licking my skin, but then shadows, his face on me, lips
on my lips—like parents—like on tv. S-T-O-P
I can spell it, but I can’t say it S-T-O-P.
I can spell it, but I can’t