cradled in the peak of an eclipse my breath capsizes into
the fray
a shuddering recognition of lost time

we sit back on the river rock letting the waves trickle between our toes
wrinkling our fresh skin into prunes

how did we get here?

when I lie down at night my back curves into the
mattress like a hook

our bodies hold memory, you used to say
we counted the bike-riding scratches along our arms
the mosquito bites from summers swimming in the lake
at night when we got drunk off the smell of honeysuckles and the sound of our own laughter
mother’s gardening gloves stained with coarse dirt
your dad’s shirt converted into a dog towel

now as I stand my bones are metal-filled,
medallions, testaments to our tween days
tireless as the sun is bright
but my eyes are weak and I refuse to get glasses
still determined I can get my vision back
still trying to reverse the clock ticks

our jeans don’t fit us
we’re bursting
trying to grow into this big world
a perfect sprout

excited for the change
this chance to be someone new
adult—simply because our training wheels are
gone and we’ve learned how to pedal sloppily
which is still pedaling, by the way

but something inside us cracks in the silence, our hearts a broken vase                                                             burning for the sweet warmth of our memories
safe, predictable, and now held beyond grasp
fading into oblong reflection of goodbye