Geri

Oh, look at the leaves. 
Look at how they cry. 

Look at how they tremble,
Fragmenting the sky. 

Look at how they remember 
autumn breeze 
and autumn nights.

 

Crusty child, 
rub your dry eyes, 
flap your birdlike limbs, 
stare with an open mouth. 

Are you hungry? 
Are you sad? 
Are you tired of being a crusty child? 
 

Pale peach fading 
Into hazy blue sky 
Backdropped against lush greenery 

 

And it was at that time…poetry arrived. 
Or rather, 
I fell into it. 
Idly turning pages, 
lips mindlessly mouthing words, 
transcribing sounds into sentences. 
From mud it called me.