65/365

When I was a child, I imagined a friend.
She wore the opposite of me.
I thought if we could be all of it,
we could be enough
to watch the snow fall,
and that's okay.

There wasn't all of this cabin fever stuff.
The raw edges of a chicken wing.
Language was language.
Backyard haven.
The birds were expected.

In my memory, I cannot imagine not having a friend. There was no ceremony. There was no realization or conversation, it wasn't okay, 

like they say on the television when people start thinking differently.

Lately my memory feels like constructing a city of buildings immediately and forever. 
Time tricks and hop scotch chalk fades away in the winter with what's normal. 

[image: Rebecca Green]