Childhood haunts with its slights, the jungle gym

rusty, the see-saw looking like at any moment it will

send a kid flying. I begin to forget what the rusted circle is called,

its bite acidic, (I remember once sucking on the rusted bar) always coming back

more gray than I remember.

People’s faces look boarded-up,

empty buildings, hiding something. They are. I

am. I close my eyes and I am a girl again,

lying flat on my back in the dark everyone gone. No.

The ice cream truck bells ring and suddenly I am eating. It’s cold and I feel

lost, dizzy with glee, fingers tingling. He takes each one and licks it. After that

I don’t remember. Is it the tilt-a-whirl? We are spinning, lying down on our backs. I kick

one skinny leg out, drag my foot in the dirt, holding on the the bar, you, holding on to me.

We’re high. This was before.