We lingered at the stream after school,

enchanted by the babble of its language,

and how the sun cast gold glitter, like Midas

wherever it touched


Now, with twenty odd years of hindsight,

I know your story was fabricated

when you told us about the man who drowned

in the shallow, shimmering



And the gasps you drew

from our young mouths

when you uttered the words

Iā€™m going in

and climbed the rail of the bridge,

those gasps,

were exactly what you wanted.


And then we all went home

to our mothers


Back then summers were short

and life was forever.


Now one of us is dead,

one of us writes poems

and the other one is you,

and the summers are never-ending.


~~ June Briar Kelsey


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