The Map of Childhood

I still think of the hydrangeas
Running the tips of my fingers over their bunched up friendom and
subconsciously stepping over the empty spots in the cobblestone path where
Anni
Had ground her small girl fingertips into the ground around
And thrown the hard grey planets into the hot sky where they burned and cracked upon landing

I remember the stump in the backyard, the wild grass creeping up alongside
helping retain warmth because it’s companions body was gone
Anni and I would pick and be pricked by blackberries growing in a tangle along the path to the
beach, where out of towners would pull toddlers hands away
“Probably poisonous” they would lecture
Basketed in our shirts, stained purple now, it was tradition to release them in a soggy heap
on the stump and smash them up with sticks ripped from salty sea driftwood
Berry Soup that only the birds pecked at

Anni’s mom had this brown turtleneck dress that looked like a sack
It looked like if you took it off and unravelled a snag
It would turn into ropes the deep sea fishermen used to catch lobster
Their armor shells shiny with the drying water and the sweaty panic of being caught
When we stole that dress and cut it up into strips
Leaving the turtleneck in its round drooping original state for sanctities sake
We felt like lobsters, burning with embarrassment and the sweaty panic of being caught

Burrowing our feet in the scalding sand until we reached the dark wet relief
We dozed
And dreamt of men in suits with briefcases holding our future
Two pairs of hands, boy and girl, unwrinkled but tan and tough from years of sun play
almost touched
I remember the tide pools teeming with vertebrae and movement and color
Stooping down together and watching starfish breathe and jellyfish gasp
Anni’s dark hair wavy and knotted from tumbling in the white waves
I still think of Anni

The painting this ekphrastic poem was written from