East Bay Hills

Tina lived
in the apartments
where
for a time
we both grew up.

I lived there too.

We walked the
Danville ridgeline
one still summer day
and ended up
in a field
near the monastary.

She dawdled
over other times
she had thought
fun
and I felt new
at being
independent enough
to be alone
with her.

So,
just
too young
to understand
the closeness
of it all,
we sat
back to back
on a summer baked,
straw covered hill,
where ancient oaks
had been shading
dawdling children
since
the children there
spoke tongues
heard
by
no one
today.

These
are the moments
you
grow up
from.
They fall
away,
little autumn
memories,
until
the brightest
only...
shine back at
grown up
you.

In my mind
She's out there still,
you know;
forever thirteen
without a care.
And,
I am with her
back to back
chewing straw
in the stressless
heat.

The real Tina
bacame a photographer,
married a man
she loved
and grew into
a stranger.

The real me
is grateful
for the memory
of thirteen.