Staring at the Sun

We ran barefoot through cul-de-sacs,

sprinkler mist cooling our heels,

afternoons stretching past the streets we knew.

Your laugh always came first,

spilling before the joke was over.

We’d wrestle in the grass,

then smear wildflower and chalk on skin,

as if painting something eternal.

We named clouds—

elephant, pirate ship,

a face too much like my father’s.

You’d look straight at the sun,

as if daring it to answer.

I’d follow, eyes burning.