Criss, cross, criss, cross. 
My grandmother and I sit next to each 
other with foundation in one 
hand, a brush in the other. 
We blend. 
Grandma’s age spots lighten as 
my white spots darken, unfolding 
the magic of disappearance.

I miss you, the girl who cried during Dumbo
Who sobbed just because someone else was
I miss you, the girl who giggled when she got tucked in at night
Who begged to be read to
Skipped when she was happy
Stomped when she was sad
I miss you and I have no right to

Bare feet stomping smushing moss bare toes gripping green blades of grass bare toes ripping out weeds dirt is stuck under our nails and stained onto our shirts and smeared onto our faces we’re hanging on the branches of the old maple tree clawing at her trunk to climb her limbs there’s bits of ba

To the child I once was, in a time now afar,
I send back my thanks, from the future’s bright star.
For the dreams that you dared, for the hope in your eyes, 
For the laughter that echoed under wide-open skies.