How Naive Can We Be?

The box of building toys born of the same hue,

Nearly matching the memory of what first stained you.

Flipping a long downturned switch to something someone could never undo.

How could we know a joke would too soon grow blue?

We laughed and we laughed,

Giggled and ran.

Your red stared right through,

Dripping into the sweet batter,

Of what was to be made.

Cute little nuggets of us in the fourth and seventh grade.

Anxious and giddy,

Foolish and silly.

Feeling life surge through our veins,

Spilling out into the calls of our names.

The door locked, and that was it.

We panted and retreated.

Our fun was blown apart,

Into tiny pieces we could not manage to reclaim.

Grasping at the imaginary crumbs on the floor,

Longingly searching for anything to unlock that door.

Staring at the green,

Begging it to tell me:

What did it all even mean?

What was I supposed to see?