I wanted to take my clothes off,
run naked through the rain,
but the good girls never did those things
while playing behind my family's house
("London Bridge" or "Mother, May I?")
or collecting pink sprays of bleeding-heart.
We were two girls too many,
holding hands shaped like
starfish washed up on our private shore
as we ran together through green-gold grass
under the granite sky,
fingertips of sunlight poking out to touch your skin,
refract through your hair (protein strands turned prisms)....
In the glory of the moment, the clouds shattered
revealing the fresh air and the blueness of June sky
as we chased down the horizon through rain-slick fields.
Now skeletons, starfish and shells
lie dry behind my closet door,
with leaves of grass and flowers pressed
between my Beatrix Potter books.
We are two girls, together living separate lies.....
I want to run naked through this life,
my fingers through your rainbowed hair,
but good girls never do such things.