a humid oppression

by Sharmila D., 16

“You have a long life to live,” they say
up the asphalt road, up the cement path
following, trailing.

Between the houses
filled with smiling people
of different shades and different times.

Between the curly haired girls
who no longer remember
sisters turned strangers,
the days of make believe long forgotten
along with the wizard duels and fantastical games.

Between the after dinner talk
about the old days
when the room was just a little more

Between the bones buried in the front yard
near the avocado tree
where they used to bound and leap and patiently wait
and the ones destined for a similar fate.

The words left a lasting taste on my tongue
as I walked away, up the road
from the triangle of my youth.
Tucson, Arizona