M. Hank

Just some little sentences, quick delights, really, jotted down on a tiny reporter's notebook during a flight from Burlington to Raleigh yesterday. Enjoy and remember that the world is full of delight!

I don’t know if we’ll ever be whole. Not that we ever were in the past. It has struck me, though, recently, that, while we, or at least I, frequently discuss, and, indeed, logically understand that our rights are not our own an

I am eleven years old. I think freedom isn't what they say it is. 

I live in the land of the free. I am free 

in most ways. 

I can be a black belt. 

I can be a published poet. 

The poppies are too cheerful, squealing for even a tablespoon of attention.

Look at how they open wide like the mouth of a Siberian wild cat.

I told you I didn't want to receive flowers, chocolates, anything at all.

I wake up in a world that’s always moving, 

a second away from breaking. 
I scroll through the noise, 

and I wonder what happens when the screen goes dark. 

They are the flow

from which all grow.

Every water molecule,

all very miniscule,

pass through the membrane

with no strain.

In and out,

up and down,

side to side