we held the creek water in our cusped hands,
and the little creatures who lived there
pricked our fingertips and nestled in our hearts.
when we grow too tall we’ll shine a flashlight
and there will lie their tiny corpses,
soon buried in a grave for a child.
we’ll peer into the casket with brand new eyes,
our campfire song on the lips of a funeral choir
accompanied by an organ.
remember when you bruised your knee
and i told you i would make you medicine?
four drops of witch’s blood and a fairy wing,
a sprinkle of pixie dust to taste.
your knotted bracelet unravels
braid fraying from the pool’s chlorine
and when i arrive in my driveway,
i know my backyard potions are only sticks and mud.