In the courtyard, she runs back and forth over the age-smooth bridge,

A cup pressed between two dimpled hands, too large for one. 

Beads of water roll down her glass, catching the sunlight,

Like fairy lights in frosty condensation. 

 

She plays barefoot under the umbrella trees, 

Defending entrance to her drawbridge castle from brotherly incursion. 

As she chases them, water from her glass splatters on the sidewalk, 

Forming uneven patterns, marking where she'd been, like pins on a map. 

 

A cool, eastern breeze makes the leaves sing hymns, 

As she spirits through the tall, green grass. 

Her make-believe brings back old memories 

Of pool parties in August, playing bocce ball in the sand, 

Flying high on creaky wing sets, so old that they'd been there forever. 

Of mini-golf on spiky astroturf, making my toes itch, 

And a park, inside a crater, colossal peaks dotted with cypress. 

 

The little girl follows her brothers between the stucco concrete apartment buildings, 

An echo of her laugh chasing her heels. 

Her laugh, and drops of water evaporating in the sun.