“To the secret fort!” Nikki said
And we ran out from the shelter
Of the weeping willow.
Our feet hit the ground,
Hot and burning
But we were wild and
Through trees and bushes
There was a clearing small enough
For two 6 year olds and a table,
Where we planned our adventures.
We lived off ripened strawberries
Her grandpa grew and we learned to fly
Off swings, shoes first,
To the ground.
Every day ended
We found a caterpillar
Called him our baby
But someone released him and
In the way only a child knows,
That meant the end of something.
Weeks went by.
One day a storm shot lightning into the willow tree
And it fell.
I can’t find any caterpillars
Or strawberries that the birds haven’t plucked.
I don’t fit into bushes anymore.
Both of us found new adventures,
New friends, and boys we would kiss.
Some days I think of sharing them with her.
But if we shared our stories
We wouldn’t be those same girls,
Fast as the wind, fire on our feet.
Our adventures would lose their glow.
So I keep those girls in a box
Tucked in to a bed of willow leaves
With strawberries for us to survive.