Eleven, Intact

 

I climbed a tree and sat at the top
for hours. Legs numb, mind rattling
with broken marbles.


I scowled and yelled at withering
glances upwards. Most people walked
on, shaking their heads.


Dina, Mike and Pete found me,
looked up. I picked figs, nibbled,
giving them the finger.


They grinned and scrambled up.
Shortly after, Madame Bouchard lost
her hat to fig splats.


Mr Glanos had to run faster
for his bus. We laughed, choking
on tears, gasping


for breath. That day was one
of the last when I lived
no further than each hour.