You remind me
of the red and yellow Jell-O
that mom used to make us
in those hot summers
We made her
cut it into star shapes,
one for you and one for me,
because the dish was never
big enough for more
We’d eat it slowly
letting it slide up and down
on our tongues
until they were colored bright.
You remind me
of the sleds we’d make
out of backyard chairs
in those bitter winters
We’d make paths
with our tiny fingers
in the snow on the deck
with a pile at the bottom
just so we wouldn't fall
We’d slide down laughing
turn-by-turn
over and over
until we were just too cold outside.
You remind me
of those late nights
when we’d stay up
telling stories
We had already spent
the whole day together
but we never ran out
of things to say
until one of us fell asleep
We’d say good night a hundred times
But never mean it
Because a minute later
We’d be giggling all over again.
And today, just because
we never cut shapes out of Jell-O
and those backyard chairs are long gone
and we have our own rooms now,
You will always remind me of those lovely pieces of my childhood.
