The town of your childhood summers, when you baked Portuguese sweet rolls in the kitchen with Grandma. Went bass fishing in the reservoir with
Childhood summers were patent leather, were dancing music played above her, were rounded uncles, soft as cushions who’d raise her, squealing, above their shoulders
but I forgot rollerblading past knobby old oaks, hollows gaping at our speed. I forgot wheels stuttering on cracked pavement, skidding on fallen olives,