Reid@YWP

How to be? 

How to take that first most subtle glimpse behind what has been, 

How to do it again or for the first time,

The string of memories burns my hand,

My 12-year-old self can barely understand.

The balloon is purple, her favorite color,

She is my great-grandmother.

The air in the balloon is filled with every memory I remember,

Old clothes that don’t fit anymore – 

they seem like they are calling your name,  

to hold on to them, forever and more,

to be loved, to be used, to stay.  

But eventually, you must let go.

remember the first time you stood on a stage

a vivid spotlight flickering down on you,

as you opened your mouth and started to sing?

remember the first time you stepped into dance class

lacing on your pink ballet shoes,

It is afternoon, and she is slick 
with sea residue and summer heat, 
draped in a sheer pearly sun gown. 
Minding the sand upon the shore, 
crystal waters bring her a shell,