Sunday in Motion

She was five years old,

a special Easter Sunday when

she danced in the yard

without the slightest inhibitions

she would later refine. She

wore the dress her grandmother

made by hand;

Dr. Quinn and violin, the girl

she was meant to be fit squirming

and rebellious into ruffled socks and

shiny black shoes. She shrugged at

the patterns and folds

of a garment overbaring of her

five year old demeanor.

Six year hopes and a small

gold heart on a chain, she was not

yet entrusted with the fate

of her dreams. Songs of

symphonies or garage can sounds

intrigue a curiosity to forever

expand.

Bombs on Houses

Drizzle Dazzle-

Sunshine on Strike.

Taste the drips

and drops that fell

on yesterday.

Scribble Squabble-

Ink out the Well.

Blink through the

panes and drains in

windows left open.

Brittle Battle-

Bones gone Mad.

Skate on slabs

of granite in houses

you never had.