The Claire’s cherry charm necklace fastened 

beneath my swinging side ponytail,

heels calloused from barefoot tag, chewed split ends, 

capris with grass stains and unshaved shins, pale.

Somewhere in the yard I lost the red charm,

we scanned the grass until the last light thinned,

the afternoon’s fun cut short like thin yarn.

No lost-and-found bin in the dimmed blue hydrangeas.

Not a necklace but a cool factor

for the year our feet made more noise 

running round the porch and climbing bunk-bed ladders

before we traded tag for meeting boardwalk boys.

Wonder if we all bury our childhood charms at last,

some fruit of ourselves, in uncut grass.