When I was a little girl,

I swung-high and low,

tried to touch the clouds with my toes.

A pair of sneakers with worn-out laces;

Collected memories in dirt-filled-soles—

Mill Pond –

the trees I climbed.

Each winding branch

an invitation:

To soar to new heights,

in the world and my spirit.

The days of tall grass fields, onion-scented,

and honeysuckle sweetness.

Oh, the sun shone loudly—

As if a chorus in the sky:

Not with light but imagination.

Friends challenged one another,

to balance,

walk on white-wooden fences,

dividing us from the street,

and constructed belief.

I learned to stand-tall,

on one leg,

the other behind,

arms like a bird.

The breeze was delicate,


could carry you anywhere…


with a close friend,

you’d simply sit in wonder,

talk secrets,

collect ladybugs that crawled

onto summer-drenched skin.

We had no doubts…

Honored our word.

When I was a little girl,

no one ever told me it’s impossible…


Older eyes see things not so playfully,

and not necessarily true.

Somehow, somewhere, someone,

tells you,

you can’t,

and being so smart,

you trust,

settle into the misfortune

of doubt.

My little girl’s heart

is alive, in love, creating,

everything that I am—

She calls for me often

to touch the sky with my toes,

even if it seems no one ever has

or will.

“Be the one that tries

rather than a hopeless fool!”

For rigid is the road to devastation:

You may toss your sneakers,

and live your days in shattered bones—