fold me into leaves and grass
run rivers over land
dry and cracked
fill the sea with sounds of play
grow roots deep till mountains break
I'll take flight on dusty pave
dancing into the desert grave
roll past cities of smooth glass
shattering their filthy masks
plant instead resistant vines
to nurture the nature of creative minds
21 gears and years in stow,
Chase time
to find your way
Well, it's time I stopped talking about writing.
She walks down the Brooklyn avenue doing her best impression of someone who isn't worried about how to look confident without the pinched step of uppity gentry or the slow swagger of street pomposity. And, after finding a sort of strained middle ground, she rushes on past casual stoop and consignment shop toward the elementary school.
Smile in greeting and how was your day?- later, everything is different. The skipping sloping stroll of hand holding and the confidence is effortlessly there. Somehow just the presence of that little person magically brings forth all of the answers.
whew, it's something. and that's enough
-Penny
