I have years in my head that are just blurs
Sitting in a trailer park, smelling charcoal
Climbing a pine tree, sap sticking my palms
To whatever bark unhinges itself
Scraps that cling to the life blood
Of it’s origin
I have an orange creamsicle ice pop
Memory
That summer, the Dog my mom and dad rescued
Ran away
I think he died
Or maybe it was she
But I played like a princess on the frailty of a washed up
Playground, decaying in disrepair
Just happy for the orange creamsicle
I am free
In these moments