Mermaids

I remember sleepovers
and the cupped-hand giggles
that erupted
from our mouths
in quiet graceful waves.
I remember whispers about boys
long after my mother
had said goodnight, and turned out the lights.
Confessions carelessly offered up
between cousins
secrets kept
safes of information with
impenetrable
locks, this
I remember.
Play pretend in pools
mesmerized by movies
tanning in the heat of Arizona sunlight.
But mostly I remember
how those bonds of friendship have
never broken
and how twenty years later
(my baby cousin)
you are still my best friend.