Adriana.K.Maxwell
Dew wet morning, leaving footprints in soggy sneakers, highlighting spiderwebs, little ant mirrors on stems and leaves, the rinse of the world at night
Drive off it, why is it that even in all our fear and common sense, there is still that nonsensical desire to fling ourselves off it and see, for a moment, what it is to fly?
Sun, shine on me today for I am tired and weary, brighten my eyes and warm my body. Let me soak you up like the dandelions, give me strength to burst through the concrete and smile even when I feel unwanted. May I echo you like they do, a galaxy of small suns, soft enough to touch and then gentle and swift enough to carry wishes.
Rise, breath of life stirring embers, crackling into feathers and flame, rise from your death, from the What You Were to the You Now, sweeping through smoke into sky
Night fall softly, deep and heavy like a blanket of snow whispering to the seeds underneath, "not yet, wait awhile and rest that you may burst through all that stands in your way in the proper time."
Water flowing, pooling in my palms, this is the best water, when you drink with hands cupped, thirst making it delicious, no taste but cool and home
Palm tree against the sky, fronds like fingers brushing the blue, long and thin, a symbol of faraway places, where we, the foreigners, lounge all day while the men fix their nets and a teenage girl stands in the heat yelling "Ice cream!" all day.
The acorns roll in the leaves before being pushed in to keep safe, the hungry stay hungry because sometimes just looking at a full pantry makes us feel safe and we don't know how long this bounty will last. "This is my emotional support money," my neighbor and I joke but neither of us are lying. Oh, to be like a flower opening its petals to whatever comes or a bird singing through the day. Instead, we are frantic squirrels, trying to save, trying to bury our worries and tie down peace of mind because we don't trust the promises of the future, making and then forgetting our back-up plans.
Plum blossoms, I have heard of. Plum wine, I have tasted and did not care. Only once have I held a plum in my hand and marveled at the darkness of it's skin and stained my fingers with it's juice.
Butterfly, wings tipped up, bumblebee hums with frantic energy, wings buzzing in a blur, but the butterfly falls and lifts itself up again.
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