many young people look up
and choose a mountain to climb
some goal to prepare and pack for
a life journey aimed at a distant dream
others never pull their eyes
above the fields they work
counting the days with fingers
as bent bodies cross between rows
the difference being
the lift of a head
the placement of a foot
another then another
but mostly a craving
to whisper hope
a little louder
when a plant is happy there’s a bright green face that looks up at the sun Me? I smile at that sun too but more often in the direction of the one that shines inside me
Thanksgiving again the time for bloated bellies to test their flexibility family and friends to gather and serve up gratitude for another year of each other but saving the best for dessert to
that sliver of untrimmed trees and bloated bushes splitting the Johnson and Mistretta yards it held a path generations of little feet had worn when I entered it one day my favorite tunnel of green and