By Lexy Morrow
The familiarity of your face on my screen
invites me to break this curse of silence
between you and me.
Can I skip past the niceties to ask
if you remember warm days diving under
crystalline pools, pretending our feet
were as pearlescent as mermaid fins?
Or how we made castles out of twigs
in the bushes of backyards where
we feared the parental invasion
that was the call of bedtime?
We soared above our suburban kingdom
on rusty bikes and sailed through
the storm of sprinklers hand in hand.
Do I cross your mind
like the strands of hair
you braided down my back?
I followed your voice like a well-charted map
through the thick of unmowed lawns
where we defeated the dragons that
were only our own shadows.
Now I only follow you online.
But the treasure is still buried beneath my bed—
bejeweled bracelets etched with your name
and long-kept secrets scribbled on
scrap papers for only our eyes.
I could type how I never meant to banish you,
even though the palace gates are now rusted shut.
But your freckles have faded and
Band-Aid battle wounds are healed.
So, I’ll write well wishes
and hope you haven’t lost the
golden key we held those magic years.
Author Bio
Lexy Morrow
Lexy Morrow is a writer of short fiction and poetry based in Southern California. Interested in the rich characterization of literary fiction, Lexy’s work explores the psychological complexities of female friendship, familial dynamics, and growing up in the modern era. When she’s not writing, she can be found studying for her Literature and Writing Degree, painting, or cafe hopping.