The Shed

The pebbles dance along the strings like her feet

along the worn wooden floor. At once it was

apparent on an awestruck summer's eve

that Molly and Mary would never be found

hiding in Grandpa's old tool shed. Pebbles

plucking the heart strings of a girl as they tap

lightly on the window pane, one could

mistake it for rain but for her hopeful imagination

The air is filled with the buzz of yellow

fireflies, winking on and off then on and off.

They are the prancing pebbles along cricket

orchestras. She used to dance quite often.

And Molly and Mary kissed for the first time,

hoping never to be found. But she stopped dancing

for us when Grandpa opened the shed.

Then again, still, when she left the curtains

blowing in the wind.