Wednesday, August 5, 2009

Five senses of girls

They're on the playground when I arrive to take them home. One's been hopscotching. The toe of her shoe is covered in chalk. She jumps on me and streaks my jeans with pastels. The other just finished her snack. She jumps on me and I smell ketchup. Her class is indulging in a ketchup phase; her teachers pour it in her chicken bowl for dipping. Her face is just-wiped clean, though. I find the source. I see streaks of blood in her hair, but of course, it's just tomatoes. Her class is also indulging in a hair-as-napkin phase. They jump on me in sync and then akimbo. I kiss their damp heads. I taste dirt and salt. I smell suncreeen and sweat, summertime. Their weight is unbalanced against my two hips and they jump, they squeal. I don't want any of the three of us to fall to the concrete so I squeeze. I squeeze my pungent beauties close against me. Pin It