Carl Wycoff CC
In This Moment, Loosely
I need to run, to grab the sun by the balls
and pull it towards me, its tongue of honey
licking my face. The sweat soothes. My feet
need to tap grinning dirt, summon the spirits
from below who remind me to hell with good
intentions. The wind, kamikaze in its effort to
relieve stress. My nostrils fume like synchronous
song with the passing turbo engines. I am not
reluctant, I am mad. Mad as these geese left with
mud and puddle instead of mother pond and
her banquet of cricket and pickled greens. Here
in their diminishing habitat, I am anger, isolated.
I watch a road fall into the rubble of its own gravel.
The sky groans behind a brimful blue. I know I’ve
done a good thing leaving, for broken time is a
privilege I give myself. In this moment loosely,
I am free, the thinnest of strings attached.
Amanda is a mother, teacher and poet originally from San Antonio. She draws strength and creativity from her Latina roots, and from her husband and three daughters. Her work has been published by The Latino Book Review and The Front Porch Review, among others. She dreams of becoming a full time writer and storyteller.
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