It was as we played king of the raft —
bobbing the way it did,
always half-swamped with
the translucent green of the little lake,
and all of us shouting, thrashing,
sending the fish to the bottom,
the sun shining our suits,
our shoulders and necks
matted with tangled hair,

you watching from shore
with grandma and the great aunts,
smoking under sun hats,
scraping your heels into
the wet sand, yelling,
‘you kids be careful out there!’
and ‘no pushing!’
as if it did any good —

that I understood for the first time,
looking back toward shore,
your certain sort of smirking
half-smile, your eyes flashing low
as if surely you were about to
get away with something,
some kind of glorious chaos
about to reign down.

And then it did,
with you running, diving
out to the raft,
claiming your kingdom
for once and for all,
our…