Adriana.K.Maxwell
The drum keeps beating, beating. Baby rocking back and forth with the beat. The first instrument available to little fingers. To hit and hear your touch resound.
Honestly, I'm tired. So many little lies. So many "fine's to "how are you" without really knowing each other. How many "how are you"s before it is a true question, not merely a greeting?
Meadow of flowers, tiger swallowtail on a black-eyed susan, Queen Anne's lace bobbing, rabbits rustling unseen and a red-winged blackbird sings.
Shifting waves, it's hard to change, to go a new direction, just like it's hard to stay when you have been moving so long, the rules of physics in real life
Apple in the orchard, filling up our bushel baskets, apple in the sink, bobbing on the water, apple peels with cinnamon making apple spaghetti, apples cut and boiling in the giant pot on the stove, apples churned and squeezed through to applesauce, apple rings sliced and laid on the dehydrator, applesauce in the downstairs freezer, applesauce half-microwaved with the middle still delicious apple ice.
Rafter full of hay, golden dust in the sunshine, cows chewing, saddle soap and leather, dust and growth
Stone spinning through the water, sinking into the sand, bluegill flashing above, waterlily stem reaching up to the surface
Belief is the beat of your heart, changing it from a mere pump to the beat of the universe, trees breathing life back into us,
Up the ladder, sitting carefully on the roof tiles, after I adjust one to cover the gap that drips rain on the corner of my bed, looking down at yellow, pink, and turquoise houses and the coffee beans spread out on rooftops, horses ridden past by modern cowboys, clouds against blue mountains
My cup runneth over and slips and falls off the edge, tumbling, red river running into the carpet, and I stand and watch, unsure of how to pick it up, watching the waste seep through
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