Dear Imaginary Friend

by Nina Hahn


Remember when 

we got up the moment a finger of light crept through our white 

lacy curtains? When we sat on the maroon couch, 

our hair tangled like fishing lines, in John Deere pajamas, 

watching old Spiderman cartoons and sucking on sweet, cinnamon-y cereal? 

When we built forts in the basement out of 

tents and chairs and blankets and imagination? When 

the smell of pancakes, sweet and toasty, wafted from the old black stove? 

When Mom drove us to the library, or we rode our bikes there, 

and the library was still magical? When we went to the park--the one with the tire swing 

and the scary wobbly wooden bridge, and the park 

was the best place on Earth? When we got chocolate ice cream on cones 

and the bigger the scoops, the bigger our smiles, the smaller our worries? 

When school was fun and safe and 

home? When we played with our friend in the yard but 

only in the yard, where the rest of the world looked grand and we were eager 

for the day we’d be old enough to leave the yard?

Remember when winter wasn’t sad?

Remember when eating wasn’t so complicated?

When emotions only grew as deep as strawberry roots?

When loneliness was only a myth?

Remember when our lives were precious?


Do you remember?


I can’t remember, either.

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