little house

i thought, so long ago, that it was all good

when her eyes glittered under the july sky and the breeze tasted like empty meadows and fresh chives

and we could walk to the pond with pebbles underfoot and benches who belonged to people long gone (said their nametags)

water flowing and i could feel the rough ridges of the wood underneath my fingers, telling me to stay back

"time for a break," so we went inside and cut our hair and played the shuffle game and

i thought it was all good