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

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. 

i am getting older
my hips have grown wider than the great oak trees i used to climb
my face has grown longer
my sweet baby cheeks are hollowing out
and the men of oakland have begun to allow their eyes to linger, for just a moment too long