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
I’m going in
and climbed the rail of the bridge,
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