Snapshot

The sand was hot.
It seeded our hair
and caked our legs
and tickled in between our toes.

August 1999.
A week of warm Gatorade
and crunch sandwiches
and unexpected sand blankets
during your afternoon nap.

I’m smiling in the picture.
I know you won’t care
when you wake up to a quilt
woven from grains of hot sand.

I know you won’t mind.
One week a year it’s easier to forgive
the mischievous tricks
of your best friend.

When you wake up we’ll build a castle.