The Wind Was Singing

Dew laden grass made her shoes glisten
in the early morning sun
but the berry bushes were stingy
so she had to travel on.

The forest branches were bending to and fro
with welcoming arms that beckon children
to those dark and silent spaces
hiding quietly between the trees.

But the wind was whistling a pleasant tone,
almost a song that left a happy feeling,
so she left her basket by the mossy glen
to chase a butterfly floating on the sound.

But the dark and silent spaces
hiding quietly between the trees
eat little girls for breakfast
when the berries are not ripe.

On the Sidewalk

Much more than a solid path
directing me from place to place,
the sidewalk goes on and on
pieced tightly together
like the days we’ve lived.

Yet today, the sun’s heat
has evaporated the wet remembrances
of last night’s summer rain
turning my child’s chalk drawings
into unrecognizable colored streaks
upon the sidewalk.

The passers-by stop briefly
looking down on the cement
intrigued by the thought
of what might have been.

Then they walk on
stepping on all our dreams.

On the Way Home

Driving south on highway 63,
just past Cable,
my car takes me past the bend
where trees bow their branches wide
in homage to the Namekagon,
and its tempting glistening corridor
pulls me to its waters.

In my mind’s instant wandering
I’m on a languid inner tube
floating down the river.
Dragging a stick behind me
like a paintbrush,
I draw swooping birds
that follow me as I linger
with my hair bobbing like seaweed
catching the current.

My toes are dangling
where minnows can circle them
and my fingertips filter the coolness
as I push away from rippled rocks
where anglers could tangle me,
small mouth, or northern.

I drift away from all the thoughts
that steer me in my car
because the river flows on a different path
than where I thought I’d travel.

No Bullies Allowed

My teacher has a sign hanging in our classroom:
No Bullies Allowed.
And she means it.

She won’t let anyone
call me names like Gap or Gumby
just because my front teeth are gone.

No Bullies Allowed.

But summer is here and my teacher is on vacation
so there is no one to stop Mom
from rubbing salt in my wound
with this taunting,
butter dripping,
golden ear of corn.