#2

I watched her from the rowboat: folded arms, head cocked. White paint flaking from the beach house wall behind. “I’ll win you,” he said, “a prize.” Brother to the sister in photograph pose. The ferris wheel tilted towards the sea. Was it there, in suburban coves, the clearing of sandstrewn gardens? The sun, capped, extending hands. Down to the fun house with its swooping birds. Erik’s toy men poised over picnic table precipices.

“They are for you,” smirked my father. Cool grass and bees. The darkness of summer that crept. There, my red sweatshirt fluttered on a fencepost. While the revelers: launching lights past orange clouds. He disappeared, head covered, into the night of noises. Books and bedrooms, boys below, and parting. She crossed her arms, hair in breezes: up the stairs and after.

Teeter upon the landing. Flares and fire, the airborne spectacle and families watching. The work looked down, and to see it, look up. From the hill, toward the carnival shadows. Measure the contents of pockets, change. Or sit by lamplight sounding words. Rhyme and rhyme, again and turn. Will you part, as time does, and remember? Heads raised toward where she reads. Or with his knife, you might carve things into trees.