simply six

We trip along together:

optimistic 6,

cautious 21--

an odd pair,

yet child-hood wonder

the same

as verdant hills

open like dictionary pages

before us—

“I am a white horse,”

she says,

as we follow the path uphill,

the air sweet and clear as cyan blue.

So I was a bear—

because bears can take care of

themselves.

She demands of me,

bouncing from stone to stone

while I balance

carefully, afraid of a twisted ankle—

“Choose: are you happy,

or sad,

or angry,

or tired.”

I laugh,

caught off guard

by such childish simplicity:

her determination

to cram thousands

of burning, buzzing emotions

into four simple categories.

We make it to the top,

triumph over vanquished mountains,

conquerors of a forgotten era

rush through my blood,

make me heady with hubris.

“I am content,” I say,

as the wind smooths my cheeks,

unable to label,

to pocket, tag, shelf

the moths that clunk

frantically

in my brain space.

“That’s not an option,”

I’m informed

as she shakes her head,

skipping away--

still light,

still six.

We descend,

her running gleefully,

slipping, sliding—

a bundle of curiosity

that will stretch

into careful adult

too soon.

But I envy her

this simplicity,

this lust for life—

mine grows jaded with rust

though small things

like mountain conquerings

keep it polished;

I must guard it closely,

musn’t let it

out in the open—

things get lost that way.