A glimpse

Childhood Loss

We used to play with colored marbles,
rolling in the dirt and climbing trees,
then return home with rose-perfumed mud.
My mother would reprimand me with a smile
for the scratches and torn-up dresses.

We used to laugh at the sound of the waves,
running in and out of the water,
too afraid it will sweep us away,
collecting shells and prank-calling the gods.
Now, they are all gone—gone away.

So if eating dirt and marbles,
or tasting death with every sip of a cup,
could bring me peace among the living.
I would consume them like the gasping of breath
at the depths of an ocean.