Redwings and swallows
are guarded today —
everything bent
and rain-silvered.
And I try hard
to be good and guarded too.
But someone must,
so I will bear the weight
of dreaming —
my pen the key
to the freedom
and safe haven
of the page.

And I tell myself
you’ve stopped reading,
just as you’ve
stopped writing.
And now I’ve gotten
my feet wet,
I might as well
get them muddy.

And anyway,
these words
are not opaque.
They hang suspended
like those silvered drops.
We wait for them to fall
and nourish
what is growing,
whether it’s wanted
or weeds.


About Emily

I may or may not have: A. Dirt B. Ink C. Paint D. Wool under my fingernails.

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