Climbing Trees
We went to climb trees
in the jungle gyms of green apple orchards,
bare legs dangled
toes dipped into shady pools of sky.
Secret girlfriends climbed barefooted
onto impossibly roomy branches,
their skirts improbably short,
in the swinging bowers.
Memory plays its tricks
perhaps it was in a golden cornfield
that the apples turned red and tempting
our differences
revealed in circles of sunlight.
That summer spread itself
like buttery new mown hay,
and deep within it we happened
together,
never guessing
that a chained and confused adolescence
was about to steal us away
forever.
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