RSS Feed

beyond

At that age, I wondered about
God’s last name
and why swinging high
made your stomach drop
and why that felt so good.
And about the edge of the universe.
If everything has an edge, I reasoned,
Then out there, beyond the moon,
beyond the galaxies,
there must be plywood joists,
propping up the scenery
at the edge of everything.
Beyond that backdrop,
the scent of fresh-cut wood,
plain floor littered with
sawdust and crumpled gum wrappers
and beyond that—
This was how I learned my mind
could feel like swinging high.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

typewriter rodeo

custom poems on vintage typewriters

A Poet in Time

One Poet's Writing Practice

Shades of Gray - Denison TX

Photographer of Life in North TX & points beyond

Red Wolf Poems

Prompting new poems for Red Wolf Journal

Writing the Day

A Poetry Practice

Invisible Horse

Living in the moment

leaf and twig

where observation and imagination meet nature in poetry

%d bloggers like this: