She Wrote the Day

 

 I liked to play tea party

As soon as the laughter faded

The other boys diminished to mere pinpoints

That’s when she wrote the day

 

Eight years, three months

She may have been the one that taught every boy the way, timeless

Her eyes were old world goddess, rapt, penetrating

Her innocence, not a day over her eight years

 

The universe, our tea party universe

While still full of potential and possibility

Shrank, custom fit to the shape of our energy entwined

And we imagined, oh Lord, did we imagine

 

Some days I barely remember the sequence of events

Only that, in the end I was filled with the future

Knowing, somehow, that she was the future

If not for me, then at least for the universe