Treading Water

Where fingertips touch

the water long before toes do.

A deep dive into

the comfort of what used to be.

Home is a girl with blonde curly hair

that frizzes throughout the day,

drapes itself across her shoulders almost

blends in with her bright yellow tank.

Speckled with flecks of mud,

a pattern to match

the boy in the bleach stained jersey

rose red cheeks

and soccer scuffed shins.

Together they count

on their fingers and toes

all the places they’ve lived,

houses they’ve seen

rise up from the ground

or fall from the sky.

Jutting out of a mountain top or

tucked into a blanket of snow in the bed of a valley.

Their old dog barks

at the man putting up the fence,

lets him know

we will always find a way to escape.

Shakes his head until his jowls flap and

the boy giggles as

he drives a tonka truck

across recently dug ground

below his sister's feet.

She stands atop the dirt hill,

declares herself King.

Feels powerful in her stance,

turns her back on the construction zone they will one day call a house.

Wears a bikini beneath her clothes,

always ready for a swim.