early onset

you were mostly exes then,
when she called you
to say she was going to keep it. 
tsunami of the news 
carrying you,
from the dinner table where we sat,
to a future 
our reckless, young bodies
couldn't grasp.
i don't think you had a place
to live yet,
both of us between cities,
in heartbreak and transit.
briefly children again at this beach house,
guests of someone's parents,
friends of friends of friends.
our sneakers and clothes, 
caked with sand and mud 
after searching for my lost flip phone.
it fell from my pocket,
while running to the ocean.
we retraced all our excited steps,
until that first joy was forgotten.
i thought that's why you seemed off,
because of the cold search and wet shoes. 
the near loss of what little we each had.
you'd stared at your full plate,
starving I'm sure, 
like we always were then,
but barely ate.
you'd just become a father,
while we were outside, 

still at play.