EVERYTHING

Before I knew we were poor,

Everything

was magic.

An empty fridge

meant freezer-burnt Popsicles

for dinner.

Purple-blue mouths

and toothless smiles

calmed the torment

in my mother’s crux.

Everything

was an adventure.

A shared bedroom

with my little brother

meant an eternal playmate.

A warm tent,

closed off by a blanket

hung from a bunk bed

and a hair dryer

snuck under the sheets to keep warm.

Arctic explorers

waiting for a rescue unit.

Everything

was a mystery.

Voices resounding from the living room

vehemently snaking

through the short halls

of the apartment.