You and me laying on our bellies. The winter grass is dry beneath a lilac sky, but there’s no place left to run. Stark trees and the promise of the wrong stars are all we have at the edge of the world.
Flash blubs spin.
Mom shook the photo and showed it to us–an image of me and you, missing milk teeth.
Some fifteen years later, Polaroid cautioned people against shaking the photos; they may become damaged.
I think that’s what happened here—we were shaken too hard.
The lights flash only red and blue now.