arms and legs crashing together,
snot flying, spittle winging cheeks.
We catch shrieking girls, tackle, fall
to the ground, rolling. We make them
smile, tickle their sides, smell their soap
and grape juice and fresh air. Mysterious.
Soft, crying easily. They blush, speak in
high pitched voices, play house with dolls.
We circle them as they move in clumps,
giggling. Girls. ~Nancy Canyon