We dug our fingers
deep into plastic,
searching for heads
amid the wreckage
of old ships, buildings
and airplanes.
The two of us,
working, quietly:
she, five;
Me, older.
She took each one --
each tiny yellow
head discovered
in the bin
of abandonment --
and built a tower
of scowls and smiles
and surprise.
So I laughed
along with her
at the absurdity
of it all,
this remembering.