Sticky Remains

Pink blob stretched and stuck

beneath splintered wood,

a forgotten bubble that burst

without a sound.

A child’s careless afternoon—

cheeks puffed, a quick spit,

a mess left to dry, hard and tacky,

waiting for my shoe to find it.

The stickiness pulls me back

to long afternoons cracking ice,

the sharp snap of gum bubbles

bursting against cold skin.

I poke at it, reluctant,

knowing some small part of youth

clings here, flattened

and a little too sweet.