in preparation for our lives
by flashlight

we built a blanket fort 
& called it the moon--
stole our mother's bed sheets
from the river-- hauled 
them in with all our hands
while the morning was still 
just a blush on our cheek bones--
pulled the clothespins 
from the wire outside
& watched as all our
dresses blew away
like dandelion tufts
or white blossoms from 
the plum trees growing
in the courtyard-- 
we pinned them up until
everyone on earth was 
having the same sleep over
that none of our parents 
had agreed to--
this is how we came upon
the eclipse--
our blanket fort in front
of the sun only none
of us knew how to 
take it down & after
two hours had passed we
all began to worry 
we had succeeded in 
our mischievous endeavors
to put a lid on the sun--
by flashlight we
all gathered in backyard--
shown lights on faces & 
told stories about 
the heat of the sun on
our bodies-- the waves
off the sidewalk in august--
by the third day 
we passed around matches
& struck them one by one
as if to make silent
prayers for the sun to return--
each of us making our
own attempts to pull down the
blanket fort & all our
mothers warned us not
to play with her bed sheets--
from the bottom branch
of the maple tree
we kiss someone who we can 
barely see-- we think
we could be in love
if we had enough time to shine
our flash lights on
each other's faces-- but it's hard
to hold a flash light
& climb a tree &
we say that when the sun comes
back again we'll find each
other & see what our
faces look out of darkness--
we gave up on street lights &
those fake candles in the windows--
& eventually the light bulbs
began to recede into
the perpetual night-- little
dying stars in each household--
our world became the inside of a
closed umbrella--
we filled our hands with 
rain & dump our palms into
the river to coax the blankets back
to where they came from--
oh & over year after year
for some reason our flashlights never
failed & long after i
am gone & have given up
looking for boys i've kissed
on the bottom branches
of maple trees our children will
maybe glance where our sun was--
put their grandfather's flashlight
to their face & ask what 
ever happened to
the great light in the sky 
that had the strength
to make the morning blush 
& the asphalt splash
in waves