Make me write

A grand champion
hopscotch winner.
I love that plastic trophy.
Dust builds houses
in the cracks of her wings,
on the edges of the plaque
that bears my name
etched into Candyland,
Shoots and Ladders.
So simple.
The sun-lazy on tomboy hair
like hot air balloons over Switzerland
or fluorescent pink icing on birthday cake.
A long summer at the neighborhood pool.
Fruit roll-ups, Capri Sun,
instant brownies, thunder.
Time to get out of the water.

I'll be eleven on
eight eight of eighty-eight
Roller skating, crooked teeth,
Care Bear laces.
Those moments before.
Before the sound of the ocean
would sit on frozen ears
like sirens for help.
She brought the words like a
nightmare found
on burnt parchment paper
under a soggy rock
I trip over
running from tombstones
and tides.
Spiral notebook,
number two pencil.
Make me write.
It was not quite summer
when we lost her
to the muddy coast of Surfside.
And there's nothing I can do
but watch the tide break
on tar tattooed beach
and write-her name
over and over in the sand.