Where they taught me jumps,

somersaults, how to

back flip, front flip,

how to

keep from crying when you

fall off the edge, how to

lie to Mom about that

mark on your face.

Black thick straps

wove together into a basket for

the bunch of us, reaching down

to the dirt with each linty sock jump.

Where Tyler spent his time,

when he wasn’t pushing me over during

cul-de-sac catch or carving kill

into my neighbor’s back porch.

Where he pinned me to my shoulders

to teach me how to

react when you’re pinned

by your shoulders, how to

react when you’re slapped

while pinned by your shoulders, how to

react when your friend says

“I heard Ty beat you up”

after Wednesday night

church, how to

lie to Mom about that

mark on your face.