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 |  A folder for my writing August 2017 & July 2016 |
| (to my cousin, my best friend) Can you recall, five-year-old me, four-year-old you, spotted by Miss. Larson, digging into the compost pile? But you, in tickled-pink cutie-sweet ways and frilly dress shouldered the blame and said our game was yours alone. To this day, I carry that phantom guilt, but you laugh it off. When eight and seven, I picked a pen, you picked a brush then, we exchanged color-tinted palettes and dried out pens for seven decades, and now my words simmer slowly, and your talent shows on magic slates, in butterfly strokes, and still, I remain within, but you offer yourself and shrug it off. Did you craft me like I crafted you, while we struggled with shoes whose tongues hung out, or did we hold hands throughout similar sorrows, rare joys, cast and recast in each other’s mold, holding hands in eyes of storms to pass into safe bifocals? All that, till a black limo takes us away, but for now, we wave it off. =============== 15 lines, 161 words ================= Prompt 3: Why is friendship so important? Show us in a poem. |
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