1/2 violet

i’m not grieving anymore until

the universe earmarked

and you remember being six again

by the porch with the alligator in the ceiling

sticky blue sugar racing down your hands

an attempt to escape the heat

sitting in the kiddie pool

under sun beaming through

a sky never filled with clouds

and there’s grandpa with a pot of warm water

because the hose was too cold for his girls

and it’s hard to remember now

how she went from pink-cheeked innocence

making cakes out of mud and conifer berries

to smoking discount weed

on the dilapidated steps of an overpriced college

home

crying about homework instead of the uncle

who almost died over the weekend

writing a poem with

internet jingles like

church bells on the brain