Jasmine, sparkling-eyed,

barking at shadows,
the ache of afternoons
that don’t return,
figures dancing on the wall,
hand puppets,
baby sister in her stroller,
or hand in hand after school,
another hour singing melodies,
boys thudding basketballs,
girls shrieking through sprinklers,
summer loud and spilling over. 
Evenings with nowhere to go,
magnolia thick in the trees
sweet enough to still the hour.
A 1968 Chevy, boys hanging out
the window, laughing,
radio noise brushing past us,
while Jasmine shakes
her wiggle butt,
as if the whole world
were hers to greet.