Rebecca

15

robin's eggs

it was summer
the first time
you held my hand,
the grass was crisp
and green
and the sky
was robins-egg blue.

even the birds approved.

we lay down under the
canopy of sky
looked up at its infinity
pretended that
we had our own.

we didn’t,
of course.
we never do,
not quite.

but summertime still
reminds me
of the callouses
on your fingertips
as they traced the
outline of my jaw.
i cannot see
green grass
without thinking of your eyes:
the same color
as the sky.