When we were little

we hid behind those pines at the preschool, remember? Our identical light up shoes sinking through fallow needles and fat brown mud.

We walked around for hours, meeting beetles in the tracks,
and said that they were ours,
in those hands that had no cracks.

our lashes danced around our face,
and lit up in our smiles;
Now our lashes clump and stick like leaves,
and stick like leaves for miles.

When we were little

we held hands and walked across the street right? Fingers woven together like they had never split in the first place.

Our hands were clean,
and made no scene,
lest we were feeling rough,
now hands are only tiny things,
and we dont mind a scuff.

Our hands have been around the block,
and seen a lot of stuff,
these hands have held a little shock,
and passed a little puff.

in those small days we latched both hands around our sippy cups;
and now we only latch both hands when we are dripping up.