I’m back again,
I thought I never would be.
I don’t quite remember why we left,
But I returned to where we used to play.
Where
we used to hide from others,
Where we scurried across the street,
Where we hid in the lawns of neighbors,
All in the hopes of not getting caught
Where we would run around
Where we would play for hours until
We had to go to sleep.
Where we all picked a spot,
Exposed or extremely hidden,
Where we had to stay immensely quiet
Or else we’d get caught.
But, wait.
I see something across the street,
I go over to see it.
Could it be? I think
I think I found my old hiding spot.
A bush, in front of a house.
The bush was bigger than I remembered it,
But there before I left,
The inside of the bush was me, like, literally
It was easy for me to go in the bush,
Stand in it and not get caught while hiding.
And to my surprise the bush was still like that.
The bush was the form of a body quite small.
It was still my bush,
The bush I hid in long ago
