we all will live that dreaded cliche
-that our lives are just seasons.
That summer when I found womanhood
Within the crotch of a ginseng tree and
-fuzzy yellow iris tongue.
The fall when boys be James Bond
and I reflected it, silvery and raw, back
-it was always Peter Pan.
Till winters when I walked through
iced puddles, wet feets, shoes
-peel Chuck Taylors off.
Fushia springs in tree house safety
busting with our hopes and dreams
-never contained again.
No comments:
Post a Comment