Letter from Youth

You forgot to remember how to remember me
But I remember you -
dressed you in the blue and white
the grass stains, I gave you,
as you ran through my fields.
I'm a million fragments in your memory
that first broken heart, that
day when you ran away on
your Barbie bike attached to a wagon
hid in the woods
I was with you.
There when you let a friend pierce your ears
in a library bathroom
as you bled on all the classics
you'd read.
Made your sight outward,
all knowing but accepting.
Now I'm only naive, thinking
that you could just stay here in me forever
but you aged and I slipped through,
you crept by when I turned my back.
I have finished counting to ten,
and you've learned to hide so well.