After seeing my earlier poem, Erin responded with one of her own, and then posted a call to flash fiction or poetry responses. Those will be posted separately, so they don’t get lost.
Bored with watching grownups holding hands, we dawdled behind my sister and her latest dreamboat, dragging our small fingers against the stone, rough like cat tongues, giggly with the effort not to shout hello into the distance to hear it echo back like a voice from our older selves. Surely we would have landed in the soup for such rude and childish behavior, stern looks tossed at us from the front seat of the old Pontiac, but we knew that we had the power. We were her cover that day, and our silence could be bought.