YEARS AFTERWARD, CROUCHED ON
A COLD BATHROOM FLOOR
Cynthia Ruth Lewis
It all seemed like a million
years ago
we were sitting in the sun bright
kitchen talking about our childhood,
remembering the good times,
laughing and trying to recollect
exact events--which car trip it
was where you lost your G.I.Joe
at a rest stop and had a temper
tantrum for days on end, and the
time you played God and jumped
off the roof to impress your friends,
the little nerd down the street
who dared me to eat a worm which
I threw up moments later, the
endless clubhouse fights, bike
races and skinned knees, and the
time you hid Dad’s wallet but
couldn’t remember where and I got
punished for it, and we’re laughing
so hard the tears are rolling and
all the while you keep fidgeting
with your sleeves, tugging at them,
trying to cover the scars on your
wrists