We were rebels,
swinging as
high
as we could in our
fluorescently floral
print dresses while
our mothers sipped
black coffee.
And we giggled and
kicked the tufts of
dandelions and spun
under ribbons of
watercolor sky.
We wished on stars
long before we even knew
their names, and
grasped the air wildly,
watching fireflies
wriggle around in
our palms.
And we pinky-
swore we would
never grow up,
or turn into our mothers,
or worry about the
little things, but
inevitably
our ring fingers acquired
diamonds, and bassinets
congregated in the corners
of our master suites. So
we broke
our promises,
but never our vows.
And our children
swing now from
white picket
porches into
endless horizons.