that summer, we were little chemists, bakers,
storefront merchants hawking our wares. I had never
been to a night market before, but mother told me
they had everything you could ever want. for us,

there were slick mud pies, glossy from the cool shade,
blistering on the raw white concrete.cardissunset-pink
petals from the Big House down the street. warm
daisy chains, holy dandelions, dry whispering grass.

back then, the boy next door was justcaralsa boy next door.
whatever he said I forgot by morning. whenever we could play,
we played. whenever the leaves were plump, lucky, full
of milk — we collected them.

one day, a rare antidote for deadly poison
and another, a welcome cure for broken arms,
and then a lost currency
and sometimes new shampoo for my dolls.

what we knew then, wascanalsthere was nothing
that could hurt uscaralssave for scraped knees,
or the fat green Japanese beetle
shimmer-zip buzzing past our ears.

we just rinsed off our dirty heels,
hosed off plastic sandals and that was good enough.
the wasps’ nest in the rafters, broken,
too high up to see.