Childhood

Sometimes I think about the
inverse relationships between 
puddles and sidewalk cracks. 

When and How and Why 
we gain reverence for  
the depths and chill of water
while losing all respect for
the places in between,
as if we're afraid to admit
our determination in avoiding
the cracks of our relationships.

"Don't step on the crack,
or you'll break your mother's back."
What does it say about me 
that every crack seemed like 
a secret escape route or a lifeline?
These are the thoughts
probably best kept to myself,
or at the very least myself
and my certified professional.

With every puddle a reflection pool,
serving as a memory to when the
sky cried or she cried or they all
just leaked before they could help it,
I didn't quite pick up on the joy of jumping 
until well past when others somehow
lost the secrets we know as children.
That only you can prevent forest fires,
ice cream tastes better and hurts more
the faster it's consumed,
and sex ed is horrifying but not deterring.
(Sorry, folks.) 

While not always a core ingredient,
water serves as Gaslighting's henchman. 
Puddles its minions, fog its hounds. 
It portrays reality, sure, but its truth 
is in the distortions, choosing to show
not ~quite~ everything and hiding
the rest below its surface. 

And ironically, it's authority figures
who teach us to listen and accept
"this message brought to you by"
sponsors who have no ulterior motives, 
afraid of what you might discover
when you jump into challenging
the discrepancies between what 
we know and what we're told. 

Supposedly, 
I grew out of avoiding
sidewalk cracks. 

Honestly,
I think I grew into
cherishing them. 
It takes time to realize
that which keeps you afloat,
consumes and demands
something in return.

And, while deemed foolish 
by the majority of my peers,
I will take every opportunity to
celebrate the rain, to revel in it
in anticipation
of shattering
the puddles.  

Sometimes I think about the
inverse relationships between 
puddles and sidewalk cracks.