They whistled from the backyard until us little ones

Came trouncing through the woods

Covered in sap and ticks, scrapes and red cheeks.

We rolled down the big hill at top speeds

Just to feel our ears pop,

Not even Mother Nature knew what to do with us.

We gathered around the backyard eatery—

That red and white table cloth,

Drinking glasses with blue flowers on the lip,

Porcelain bowls from the back of grandma’s closet

Overflowing with cole slaw and watermelon and baked beans.

We sat folded up on ourselves like lawn chairs,

Wedged between overweight aunts

On splintering picnic benches.

We knew how to breathe deeper and longer back then;

Izzie counted it out in the lake one day

While I plugged my nose under the clear blue water—

Forty-two seconds.