what do you want to play?

the beginning to every story

we reach our arms across the gulf between bunkbeds
touching fingers, and you ask me, “what do you want to play,”
only you ask it in pig latin, our special secret language—
always the same question, our uniform way to begin.
         and I tell you who I am going to be that night—
an elf princess complete with black hair and green eyes,
and you tell me that you are a warrior with a sword that
swings faster than any other sword in the realm.
         and we set off in an adventure,
where you defeat grown-ups while I tame dragons, and we
have food fights with enormous lemon meringue pies
using the defeated pie dish to sail across oceans
to find white cliffs under a gibbous moon.
         and we don’t know that Mama is listening
with a tissue ready in her hand, but if we did know, we’d
stop—these dreaming adventures disappear when heard.

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