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Freckled
Let it be summer, when the grass is green and our souls are free;
With fresh heavenly fruit gifted to us, soon to be devoured like termites on wood. A delicacy few could obtain; a refresher on those sticky summer days.
We smiled with oranges in our mouths, gliding back and forth on the hammocks like we were flying with the dragons; a dream too good to be true; a little peace.
The sun’s warm, golden rays kissed our freckles and healed the grass scrapes from our knees as we played.
We danced under the stars that night, catching fireflies in our palms only to let them go shortly after.
We caused the grasshoppers and our mothers a stir as we ran through the midnight fields. They said it was dangerous, that the monstrosities would get us, but you said you were brave.
You said you dreamed of being an astronaut, riding the comets and scouring the planets in the universe’s blanket of stars.
I said I’d go with you and we could be together baking moon-pies and playing with the aliens.
And by God you did it: you left this planet that July night during the fireworks, carried up to the stars in an angel's arms. I am still down here, cheering you on as you travel through space. Though our dreams were cut all too short, pride warms my heart when I see your freckled face in the navy night sky of constellations. I need a little peace, and found it as I think of you; and I hope you’re still believing in me too.
Rest above, my dear friend, you left this plant all too soon; but I’m glad to see your wonder infiltrating the cosmos.
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Written with lines from “The Other Victims” by Terry Greene Sterling and Marie Baronnet, a Pulitzer Center reporting project