Little Fish

Steven had beautiful eyes.
Big black ones with long dark lashes
that matched the thick wisps on his head.
A perpetual river from his nose led to a mouth
full of shy grin.
The victim of teasing about
everything and nothing.

The four of us,
little girls on a big block,
spent hours on the swing set beneath
the branches of the chestnut tree
that shed its nuts with spiked husks,
and I only remember him
once or twice in all of those young summers,
standing along the dividing fence,
the rhubarb growing up and out of the garden
by his feet - was the radio's tune what lured him
out to us? sharks teasing him about
everything and nothing
because everyone did.

But I still remember those
beautiful eyes and that shy grin
and how awful I felt
but didn't know how to say sorry,
hoping he didn't believe me
whatever it was I said.