I saw you just the other day. You’d grown up
of course you had, it was so many years ago now.
We went to preschool together.
Inseparable, we would do everything
joined at the wrist, minds working in tandem.
We could fly.

You were a child prodigy, I was not.
Two years, or was it three? Not so very long
but when you’re threefourfive
even next Tuesday is an eternity away.

We played endless games of chess. Laughed.
One sunny day, mid-June we were married.
Under the apple trees we spoke our vows
at the tender age of five. I wore my red dress,
you had your grandfather’s bow-tie.
You gave me a plastic white rose. I gave you my heart.
We kissed each other’s cheeks before my mother came to sweep me away.

I saw you just the other day. You’d grown up.
Older, now, not as innocent, and
I miss when you were young. Back when
forever was a week from Friday and
marriage was a half-hour under the apple trees
drinking Kool-Aid and exchanging dollar store rings.

I gave my heart to you.

You gave me one plastic white rose and a smile, before my mother came to sweep me away.