Summer Camp

Someday when I’ve forgotten
my name and what I
had for breakfast,
I will remember that July
night in 1985 when
all of the planets aligned
perfectly and I twirled
my way to the library
as the lights shone
brighter and brighter
like a painting from Van Gogh.

I will remember sitting
next to that boy
whose name I surely
will have lost
and how he sloppily
brushed his lips against
mine, a first kiss
watched by a mosaic Jesus.

I will remember how,
then, the world was
spinning, not I.
No, I merely
watched it shine.

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