At recess, we gathered around 
the chain-link fence, tossed 
over gum wrappers, plastic 

charms, apples saved from lunch.  
The goats sniffed our fingers, 
ran their tongues over our discards.  

The wild grass hid our secrets; 
we buried love notes 
and report cards in the pockets 

of loose earth, dug crawdads 
from their mounds, let 
their translucent husks crack 

in the dry air.  The farmer piled up 
his trash—flat tires, yellowed 
newspapers, old blue jeans,  lit 

the relics from our makeshift grotto.  
The wind lifted the flames,
spun it through the sky.  

Everything burned that spring—  
We watched the garbage float, 
lost each other in the white vortex 

of smoke and ash.  I reached out 
to catch the cinders, felt the debris 
leave its chalk imprint on my palm.