Just a little poem about that feeling of nostalgia for something that never even happened, something that only happens in your head.
I remember you as a girl,
The golden glint in your eyes a reflection of the sun.
Look, dad! and you held up your hands to me,
Palm cupped over palm,
Leaves circling around your feet - a dirty twister.
Your fingers curled back, and there it was.
Shining, coiled, content,
The lizard slept in your hands,
Completely unaware of the powers around it
You whispered I think she's a blue-belly,
I picked her up and she never ran away.
Its because you’re warm I told you.
She likes the heat, it gives her strength for when the time comes.
When the time comes?
When the time comes. To fight, or to run, or to eat little scoundrels like yourself.
I tussled your hair and you ran back off to play in the trees.
Sometimes, the things I best remember are the things that never come.