Sorry for the recent inactivity
She dances
between the sunflowers,
their pretty powdered faces
softening like kittens in the morning's ray
as she squawks to the roots of all the boys who loved her that afternoon.
She dances
with the weeds,
running and wrapping and claiming survival
in a world that spurns her might;
biologist, artist, earth scientist, animal whisperer
—"shut up"
but that spite turns over a new leaf, eventually.
YOU ARE READING
Waiting for the Rain to Fall
PoetryPoems that twine thread around the broken bits of a soul, that fling umbrella lips into beaming buckets and kind of just make you want to say, "life is beautiful, isn't it?" - a totally unbiased review from me, the author.
