If I had my way
I'd slowly rise on a
lazy July morning
easing into the
brand new day.
As if I had no
deadlines or commitments.
As if I owned my own life.
I'd stretch, yawn, and stand
in the large arched window
and feel.
Squinting in pain
as blinding white reflections
gleam off the lake below
fixated, I'd struggle
to remember.
I'd throw open
the white French doors
to the screened verandah
losing my breath momentarily
to the muggy southern heat.
Easing myself into
Grandmother's old red rocker,
I'd feel her presence embrace me
as a flash of memories
flood my mind.
I'd rise and descend
the worn wooden steps to the lake
reveling in the sounds of splashing,
and my children's laughter.
If I had my way.
-Michelle Stradford 2018
YOU ARE READING
RISING
PoetryGrowth, empowerment and resilience expressed through poetry, prose and musings. I hope that you enjoy my first collection of my interpretation of this wonderful thing we call life.
