Before We Grew

Before we became

 pink

and mean,

We ran through freshly sprinkled yards

on summer nights–

and teased the misty breeze –

as

 our sunburned noses caught  the familiar scent

of wet concrete.

But in the holes ahead

 were burnished, brassy pupils

warning of degradation

and pain.

Warning of the end

and the beginning

of us.

“Before 13” by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse

Artwork by Daria Hlazatova