Before I knew we were poor,

Everything

was magic.
An empty fridge
meant freezer-burnt Popsicles
for dinner.
Purple-blue mouths
and toothless smiles
calmed the torment
in my mother’s crux.

Everything

was an adventure.
A shared bedroom
with my little brother
meant an eternal playmate.
A warm tent,
closed off by a blanket
hung from a bunk bed
and a hair dryer
snuck under the sheets to keep warm.
Arctic explorers
waiting for a rescue unit.
Everything

was a mystery.
Voices resounding from the living room
vehemently snaking
through the short halls
of the apartment.
And then one day,
I had

Everything

And

Everything

was over too soon.