Sometimes I think that our childhood is a parachute

Hung out to dry

And all the memories are drip

Drip

Dripping

Out of me

Like a hand is squeezing close around my chest

Feeling the heartbeat

And then wringing my ribs

Dry

Of all but a picture frame

Which contains

And empty paddling pool

A tree

And a plank of wood

And your smile like a candelabra

From which my world

Swung

And I aligned myself to you

Like a planet kept in check by the gravity

Of your voice

While you imparted the philosophy

And the wisdom

Of a nine-year-old boy who had crickets for thoughts

And an insect-ish shadow

Of a little sister