sky, anxious to touch
glimmers of a wink, peaking
out from rain-dropped curtains,
their slow thinning, allowing
pale fingers to rip
glad gaps through which we tumble
as we plunge from sliding glass
doors smudged with our fingerprint
smiles. Mere kids, we skip
slippery slopes, trail run-off's
trickle down to bubbling beds,
careless steps raising sweet scents,
the decay of leaves
and years falling away thick
from a canopy's stout arms,
criss-crossed rays sneaking through, hatch
us to muddy ponds
breathing out black, buzzing clouds,
then drinking in an unseen
pursuer disguised in plops
and ripples. Mere kids,
we muck bent knees to spread small
hands chasing backward crayfish,
who scurry red-brown under
slime-licked rocks, too poor
cover against nimble eyes,
as armored backs with pinched claws
we snatch and drop into jars
sealed shut with clear minds,
plastic moments stretched to last
an over-fancied lifetime
— Francis Scudellari
This poem was written in response to Read Write Prompt #91 at Read Write Poem. It was a bit of a challenge for me, and there's another draft poem from the exercise that I'll try to post soon.
