Decades past the little girl
who swam in the pond filled
with lily pads and minnows.
I remember how mom’s skirt
hung with pockets of mint candies,
to make me practice the piano keys.
The day I met the dark-haired boy
who picked me up in his red car.
The pillow on his side of our bed
has long lost the smell of his skin,
like the numbers that are my birth.
I forgot how to worry about drowning.
I’m on my couch, living in death’s time
wondering when I will see who’s gone.