I remember a very wet place.
Cold
fingers and toes on cold
floors. Doors open
on rooms gold-bright. Outside:
always twilight.
I remember waking in
company,
laughing, but taking
seriously the
games in red pajamas or high
drama
we performed—stormed the air
ship, rescued the
princess. We were tigers and
bears and
unicorns; we were kittens,
we were foxes,
we were kids. And on
Christmas Eve we were
too giddy to wait; and
later, thigh deep
in wrapping paper, we
capered like calves
in bangled leaves. And much
later the leaves
scattered. And we sit sundered.
And remember.