April is National Poetry Month, so I’m sharing words in a different way.
There was only one crayon
I liked in the whole box,
a cracked black Crayola,
and I settled beside a coloring book —
gray outlines on white pages, scribbling
until I noticed Grandma pulling on
walking shoes, heavy
with stiff laces, brown like snakes.
Down the shaded walk I followed
until the lawn stopped
and weeds grew wild, sloppy and carefree.
Gardening gloves parted prickly shoots
to step inside, swallowed
I followed, tripped on rocks
and roots, got stuck
on sticky burrs while Grandma cooed
soft water words
words which sounded like colors
from my crayon box, words
which until then I thought strange and
separate from me.
Later, I took my crayons outside, filled
my lap with colors
drew giant spotted, all-color polka dotted
butterflies, purple and red winged smears
dipping and soaring, winding, rising transparent
as April air, until one little one
found its way above gnarled branches
right off the page.
What are you looking forward to this Spring?