I am not a fan of adding my own notes before a piece of writing but I am a less of a fan of plagiarism. Thus, I must give credit where credit is due. The italicized words in the middle-ish stanza are taken from lindseycarbee's poem "The Story of Us". You can read it here or click on the "source of sprout" at the bottom.
YES this is spot on! Wow, this is so perfectly worded I love that the sprouts are so BIG and that there is a gardener. The gardener is smaller, shorter than the SPROUTS It makes me think how we are all gardeners, in a sense, gardeners tending to this BIG garden of words and stories
The gardener is smaller, shorter than the SPROUTS we are all gardeners and we are smaller, shorter, than the WRITING we share, the community we are, the humanity, ENTHUSIASM, connectedness that we maintain and the precious words, thoughts, images, languages we spread.
She tiptoed but to no avail, the stairs still creaked-- old boards groaning and spilling ancient secrets as she descended. The young woman approached the second to last landing. Suddenly, she gasped. There in front of her was a wedding dress she had never noticed before. Pearl white, creamy beige, a stunning soft tone of milky pale, not too brown, nor overly yellow, and least of all not in the slightest was it abhorrently bright-- like artificial chemical-packed printer paper. Not in any way was the color wrong. The dress was of the only shade of white she could imagine wearing on her wedding day. So then and there she pushed open the large glass door, minding the chinkity-clankity-clonk of aluminum cowbells or jingle bells or flimsy and loud metal chimes of some sort or another that sounded against the door as she pushed it open.
I stepped outside Into a summer night Albeit November thirtieth
A breeze so warm and animated Surrounded by its sounds-- soft, conversational, fluid A symphony of breaths of hope and a sigh all at once Then soft, Chill. a tingle of excitement, anticipation, Gusts blow through branches, excited voices in shaking leaves Rising and falling Akin to waves, the ocean, water. The earth finds different ways to sigh, And sing.
My barn boots, not my bare feet touch the porch. My parka, not my skin feels the wind My jeans, not my bare legs enkindle with goosebumps against chilled droplet tears I stand, not sit. Permitting this summer night to trick me one last time I must remember, Tomorrow is December
But I know my breeze is real. I know it is a summer breeze I feel, not a winter one nor one of fall, nor spring
Quiero una merienda por favor, a la tienda Son las nueve y esta chica no puede dormir, decir, sentir, coexistir, trabajar, pensar, parar, continuar, solamente ella puede necesitar.
No me importa lo que como solamente necesito manzanas, bananas, nueces, fresas, frutas, dulces, papas fritas, tomates, aguacates, carne, queso, leche, pan tostado, cereal, bayas, sopa, ropa, ya no sé si
la única cosa que yo sé: Quiero una merienda, no. Mentí