Weren’t we just kids?
Catching frogs in our cousin’s backyard, kicking dirt off our shoes
rolling down hills, grass tangling in a blur of green stains and skinned knees
throwing each other in front of sprinklers
watching epic trilogies on DVDs
Four nights of Monopoly
while our parents sat on those leather couches
talking of their own childhoods or what to make for dinner
The hills don’t look so big to us anymore
and we avoid stepping in the mud
The scars we talk about aren’t the ones crawling down our shins
and we’re graduating too fast, diplomas filled
with how many grasshoppers we had caught
how many times we clutched our sides from laughing
all wrapped in a red ribbon to gather dust somewhere
and she has a little girl with wide wide eyes like hers
and that cousin has a little boy with a nose like his
Soon they will catch frogs in the backyard, kick all that mud off their shoes
roll down taller, greener hills, stain their jeans, skin their knees
watch those films, play those games
Soon they’ll be saying, weren’t we just kids?
Hajir Butt
Hajir Butt is a third-year journalism student at Toronto Metropolitan University. She is an aspiring writer and journalist who finds passion and joy in telling stories, both fiction and non-fiction. She believes the written word holds immense power and finds purpose in listening to and amplifying voices of all kinds. When not reading or writing, she can be found getting lost in Toronto with her friends or planning unrealistic dream trips across the globe.
