There are times

when I think back

to the way we were.

I see daffodils

and endless meadows;

cows lying down for the rain.

And I hear you.

Pubescent and handsome,

cut cheek bones

and blonde eyelashes.

There was an innocence

in being eleven,

twelve and thirteen

before the curtains

of the real world

were hoisted apart

to reveal a strange

world stage.

 

There was hope

in the naive belief

‘this was it’:

you, me and the walk

to and from school.

The idle chance

to just be and not

consider what we would become

ten years down the line,

when you no longer

know me, nor I you,

yet my memory

is still in love with you.

 

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Written for Susan M. Conway’s 100 Days of Writing Prompts: ‘My memory is in love with you’.

Poem: © Kristiana Reed 2019

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