I ignore the kids’ slinky arms. The dishes. They daddy. TonightI rush to the rink with my best friend, her fingers locked into mine.The sun dipped already, but we sweating, edges ribboned undersummer’s breath. I forget to take pictures, but trust. We fine.Out after dark, awestruck at our own grown. Downtownain’t looked like ours since they landed on Woodward and mined,hollowed the center to erect a highrise. Joke’s on them.Everybody here Black and in love and my,don’t we know how to reclaim what’s ours. We on beat with it.Look how our thighs obey: backwards, glide, turn, slow whine.The DJ cuts to Cupid Shuffle, and even on skates, we hustle. Our necks,tilted bottles, laughter splashing and messy. Oh, how I minedfor this belonging, scythe swinging, searching for my name. So busyhiding from selfish, I had dropped damn near everything that was mine.