What Happened to Childhood?

Aria Ramsinghani

What happened to childhood, Mama? Where did the magnifying glass go? The one through which everything was pink, purple, and tinted with the urge for adventure, go? What happened to the brownie points gained for having a bedtime past 8:30? What happened to time, what happened to rainboots, overalls in the form of rain pants, mudballs, hikes, warm snacks, and bedtime stories? What happened to irresponsibility, simple pleasures, and the fear of matches? What happened to childhood, Mama? Did it slip down the slide at the playground and get covered in fall leaves and raked away with the season? Or, did it fall off the bike with me when I rode it down the hill for the first time without training wheels? Where did it go, Mama, where did it go, because I want it back. I want to hold it in my hands like a sticky mudball, I want to savor it in my mouth like a piece of chocolate, and I want to cry over it like scraped knees during summer, because I want nothing more than to just be, engulfed in the safety of childhood. Where is it, Mama? Bring it back like you bring back everything.

At Dusk

Lana Wong white charcoal