I try to make Malia feel better.
It’s okay, I say.
She scowls, her eyes tighten.
I’m just glad you
yelled my name.
Does it take an earthquake
to bring your voice to life?
We squeeze the blanket one more time,
get our stuff, walk back up
the path toward her house.
On the way, Malia touches the bark
of every tree on the path,
and so do I.