Popcorn

I’m four years old and it’s pumpkin season again. 

I’m holding tightly to my best friend’s mittened hand 

and feeling the wind whipping at my face, 

turning the tip of my nose pink, 

They pair us up in groups;

It's funny we're stuck together. 

We'll talk and meet up again,

You'll pretend like we're still forever. 

This project takes a couple weeks;

tell me I cannot drink the air; 

yet the smoke on the horizon curls like a finger, 

inviting me to taste February in the wind 

and know time is running out