September 16, 2021

A Poem for the Days when all we knew was how to be Young.

Night Moves

slight wedge in my one piece,
backside burning,
baby oil slathered,
smoking Virginia Slims,
side ponytail,
black wayfarers complete the look,
“Stairway to Heaven” begins,
I roll onto my back,
(gently plucking the material out of my crack),
blowing smoke into the sky,
I am cooler than I’ll ever be again.

A boat crawling with tan, older boys,
my eyebrows arch,
I elbow my friend,
we turn the music up,
“Borderline” by Madonna blasts,
we watch them on bent elbows,
forcing our pubescent bellies concave,

Lollipop Lolitas looking for trouble,
the kind that appears out of nowhere,
on a lake in August.

My brother makes me hide his joints in my old flute case.
My father finds them and we are grilled.
I throw my brother right under the bus
without looking back.

Cherry lip balm,
a big jug of wine,
hair slicked back,
brown skin shining in the sun.

The slide beckons,
for a moment I am not sixteen,
I am ten again,
I forget about growing up,
we do cannonballs,
and run again and again,
to the end of the dock,
we swim,
our lungs grow tired,
but we laugh and float,
and linger,
sunnies nip at our toes,
we squeal,
those snapshots caught between ten and twenty,
Bob Seger on the radio,
and oh yes, I remember.

Night Moves” and I am making out with my future prom date under the stars,
sand slips through my toes,
he’s looking to steal a base,
I am suddenly cold,
so he wraps me up.

The last day of summer,
and it’s back to school again,
we know nothing of masks or mandates or vaccinations or politics.
All we know is how to be young.

Friday night football,
and hallway drama,
and harem pants,
with black boots,
and gold hoops.
Farrah Fawcett hair,
shoulders bare,
and I’m not even talking about the girls.

There we were,
not looking back.
Because we had nothing but our dreams in front.


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Kimberly Valzania  |  Contribution: 140,860

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