Gracie

17

It's the way my uncles eyes fall into place__
But land nowhere near here. __
Tiny hands and innocent skin, __
We grew up to the rocking of summer, its sweet thick night air__and dry light that bleached us.__
There was a spirit that we could hold in our newly creased palms__
That answered only in yes's or no's __
To too big questions. __
We were tigers sauntering and sliding through __overgrown grass, heat, and basement mold. __
Melting into our skin,__
Storm clouds translated the sky to our parents.__
Swooning in scarves and magic, __
We wandered and fell into place,__
Nowhere near here. __