Unseen by those who live there now –

yet our imprint remains.

Stamped in yellowed grass, yells echoing in a faded pool. 

Passing cloud shapes passing still.

Those endless games of cricket

lime juice on ice, iced beers

meat smoking on the beer-fed fire.

Daisies blazing white around the lemon tree,

encircling us with their acrid heat,

long-winged flying ants spiraled by, wingless long before the cool of morning.

The spread-out dogs,

the dull catch of my grandmother’s amber ring against my hair.

We lived like it was forever, 

lizards blinking under bright goldskies,

dead still, until one day the world tore open

and we ran, 

Scattering.