When I could climb in through your window


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When I could climb in through your window

Your bed was a twin with scratched posts

From which we’d tent blankets, to huddle

Over old beads of your mother’s, and stamps

That we cut from used envelopes

When I could climb in through your window

It was a small night-light square in the dark

Through which I would tumble, giggling

And we would join hands at the sill to wait

For fireflies in the goldenrod below

We played at swallowing those wandering lights

And whispered forgotten things through the nights

It seemed like there were more wildflowers

In the days when I could climb through your window

~

Elizabeth Cook, 2015

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