Stuffed animals,
clouds forever shifting softly,
pillow cases, and those foam letters
spelling out A-B-C.
Childhood is fluffy, padded, easy.

When he asked me to play Power Rangers,
I grinned,
said yes, even though I'd never seen it,
took a break from feather beds,
followed him outside.

Scraped shins,
water guns shooting sharply,
danger, and taunting fences
just waiting to be jumped over.
Childhood is uninhibited, abrupt, rude.

Too young for self-conscious hesitation,
when he leaned in, so did I.
Kisses without comparisons
are always perfect.

The time out was worth it.