The tree I used to dream under was cut down to make room for the extension


There was a jar

filled with Ring Pops

that she would always

pull out for me.

Don’t tell your mother,

or she would kill me,

she laughed.

There was a

stream in the backyard,

and I used to pretend

I was in Bridge to Terabithia,

beside the girl,

dying, of course.

My aunt’s old room

was filled with Beatles posters,

and an elliptical from the 70s.

I never saw my mom’s room.

It’s funny, I said to her,

Your hair didn’t used

to be red.

She would smile that smile.

The house was sold and they

decided to move to

an apartment,

where I slept on

their pullout couch and

ate Fruit Loops.

Don’t tell your mother

she whispered. It’s

our little secret.

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