seems like just yesterday
we sat where she is now
finger-painting

purple swirls
dots of yellow
washed away

like the sweeping tide
beauty
exchanged for a stick figure

first grade crushes
to a first
romance

I want to swing on the swings again
holding hands
wind through my hair

but time took it away,
for when did
show and tell

become kiss and tell
and finger painting
become poetry?