We were ten or eleven
Still just kids but
almost not
Young enough to play on the playground
Old enough to notice
(not quite hidden in the woods)
girls stealing smokes
and making out with boys
We were at that awkward stage
One minute playing with Barbies
the next, examining our silhouettes,
waiting for them to look like Barbie's
It was a time of imagined possibilities
and dreams smashed in linoleum school hallways
On the brink of we didn't know what
Our lips kissed only by Bonne Belle strawberry
we practiced by kissing ourselves in the mirror
I suggested (jokingly)
(Why was my heart beating so madly?)
that maybe we should practice on each other
"Gross!" you said, and I
didn't miss a beat, "Yeah, I know, right?"
and that was that.
The next year you had a boyfriend
and we lost touch
But I still remember those on the brink days
and your freckled nose.
