poprocks and pepsi

The chain linked fence
remembers our wounds

our
skinny arms attached
like
subject to verb
you are me
the first valentine
crooked letters: be mine?

was there
ever such a thing
as inner innocence
back when your best friend
was a first love
not an alternative or a superlative
fighting over who got the last pack of grape pop rocks
who did the bump better
until you fell over with laughter
hitting the fence
separating asphalt from Mr. Chin's garden
ripping elbows, thighs, and knees--
if anybody else pushed me I would've
kicked their butt
but that was us
we pushed for each other

we
drank pepsi with the purple poprocks
or red punch
an oddly peculiar exploding
sensation ripped dewy lips

you
splashed me first
and it splattered on
our
white keds

i
missed the magic telepathic quality
of the mood ring
when you went away
that summer
I wishing I was blue every day
I wrote you letters.
Did you get them?

When
you came back
your black braids were streaked with white
Upstairs I heard your mama's
serenades of swearing
at the pasty no good so and so
who made her baby a woman
because he wasn't a man

What
did it feel like? theothergirlsasked
but I never did
your silent eyes
black and pearly
as your ring
told it all


the weeds by the fence have now overgrown the garden
I have learned to tend
a few spring flowers
of my own
I watch them play
in the yard, and smile
but
I watch closely

and although
we are past the age of
pop rocks

you are me
the first valentine
crooked letters: be mine?

even with the weeds,

The chain linked fence
remembers.