• Vol. 03
  • Chapter 03
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remember us, soggy feet slapping
cement, chanting "the ants go marching
two by two," parading the pool’s
perimeter, "hurrah! hurrah!," toes crimped
over the edge, slush puppie tummies,
thin arms hugging our own
shivering, dripping bodies
with frogged fingertips.

what was the point other than
to be poised above the liquid
gloss and feel the fraction of
unbecoming, a phase transition
between solid and liquid. we never
talk about this, how every wet foot
print obliterated the ones
we slapped down before.

how did we not see the beautiful
ageing bodies reclining by
the pool, oiled, playing bridge in
their flowered bathing suits. how
irrelevant they seemed. how did we
not see our own ageing, invisibly,
how we ran past our own
futures and leapt.