This
poem was written yesterday, a stream of consciousness sort of experience with
only minor edits. It’s “complete” story may be found on my Julie Unplugged
Blog.
Read about it there or simply stay here and experience this moment with me, again.
I
wish you would feel
how the sky feels against
the skin on my face when I look up
to admire it in its blue and
white crispness
The same wind that pushes
the frog shaped cloud into
a leaping, diving, catapulting
position swoops by me and
kisses me on the edge of my nose
turning me from an
almost-forty-eight-year-old-woman
into an almost-seven-year-old-girl
who can survey the cast-off once
Christmas tree and the sequoia
of palm trees and the fingers of
the now leaf-less mulberry and
remember my friend's fear-sadness
and tap into the hope that lingers
at the tip of the pine, reaching,
the naked limbs of the mulberry
completely content in their rest
the space in between the palm
branches where all I see
is blue, blue, blue
I hope you feel it
The way the sky feels
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