Cookie

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I can still hear the crickets and the sounds of the night
See the fireflies flicker over the garden and into the sky
I can feel the exhilaration of running and stopping
	dead in my tracks—
Looking up at the moon and I saw a shooting star
Then walking and waiting for hands to reach out for me
I should be safe inside by this late late hour—
In bed by the roar of the box fan in the window
It’s late, even in respect of the summer
(I don’t know how we’re ever getting away with it)
Hot, but that’s part of the fun of it
Covered in grass stains and mosquito bites
The ice cream we bought for 75¢
	from the happy man
	in his chiming white truck
Back when the sun was still up
We can drink water from the faucet before she’s called in
We still have some time
	With a little bit of luck
I creep around to the front of the house
To the hedge on the far side beyond the glow of the streetlight
	with moths weaving around it
And where I propped up my Huffy hours ago
And mere moments before the creak of the back screen
	door—
The spring that’s been creaking since the Korean War—
Familiar hands reach out from the hedge and grab me
“Cookie!” she growls and I scream and we both fall down
         laughing
We cling to each other just a little longer to savor this new
         feeling
Under the wild summer stars
With all our lives sprawled out ahead of us
While the crickets all around chirp mysteries
And the fireflies fly crazy patterns above us
And the moon looks down and smiles
I help her up in darkness
We take our drink from the faucet
And I wave and say good-bye
And I take my Huffy home with me
On this hot night in July