Many summers ago,

I met Emily.
She was clever,
Never touched the ground.
Camouflaged daily–
many dangers awaited.
Many summers ago,
passed a time I was trying 
to get two feet down.
It didn’t matter if my socks matched
just that they were the same thickness.
That I could wear them on the warming concrete
and watch Emily,
who touched my heart.
She never took.
She never called.
She never judged.
She was expected to have children. 
I looked everywhere in the spring for them,
but her legacy had either died 
or moved to a new home.
My home was fragile
the very idea of living without Emily brought me to tears.
Now I look forward to a new home,
to build a garden for Emily.
One thousand, two hundred
eighty-seven miles 
from her old home.