• Vol. 10
  • Chapter 07

One Afternoon

We go to the field.
Lizzie lugs five books,
an extra blanket,
her prayers.
I need nothing more than
Lizzie’s hand,
skipping through long grass
to the path,
to the woods,
to Lizzie.
Arms stretched,
arms bent,
arms stretched.
You’re like a puppy, she says.
I wag my whole body.

At the apex of the hill,
she drapes a blanket over us—
for the sun, she says.
She opens a book,
moves her lips silently,
hugs the book,
opens another.
Why so many books
at the same time? I ask.
She doesn’t answer.
Her eyes are closed,
not reading at all.


One Afternoon

I untangle from the blanket,
hear the crows call,
cows low,
bees buzz.
Dragonflies dance,
hover over flowers.
A horse trots, neighs,
calls to me.
I want to go to him,
explore the field,
the farm,
the world.

Lizzie, I say,
her name filled with so much more.
Eyes shut,
she squeezes my hand
and hums.