first try, be gentle.

today, i went to a discussion with three poets,

all of whom write political pieces

& i was inspired to write this.

one minute;

she could hear her own heels clicking,

clicked

against the sharpened dirt of her backyard

next minute;

the patterns of her footsteps lost,

as the ground puzzle-piece disappeared

beneath her firefly laced eyes;

one minute;

gasping cold water breaths,

as the laughter rang bright in the ears

of a mother, a father

chasing after ponytailed hair,

laughter rang bright in the ears

of a mother, a father

next minute;

choking on her paralyzing

wonder, the ground choking

on the dust splitting,

split

beneath the absence of the

click in her heels

I wonder if her eyes closed before she

plunged into the depths of her knowledge’s death

I wonder,

what schemes she sought,

            that would forever be,

            incomplete. 

Did she bloom roses?

            Petals buried beneath

            the debri

of a mother, a father.