Snapshot

It must've been a long walk. The sky was grey and we ran after seagull feathers as you promised to teach us calligraphy.
You stuck one in your hair and we became cowboys and Indians, bandits on the shoreline, whooping and running as the wind rose.
When we came home we carved scratchy quills from our feathers and wrote our straggly names in black ink.
We was here 1990.