I will be
The lonely tree, breaking an island of concrete with its roots.
The jerseys on pasture and the dogs on the porch.
I will be a half read book on a lawn chair,
the small house in a field,
and the garden of vegetables in an uncut yard.
I will be the deep sigh after a long day of work.
the stress that gnaws on happiness
and the fear of getting old.
I will be the soft goodnight in a little girl’s ear,
and a warm hug.
The guardian of childhood.
I could be a fulfilled smile
or an empty stare.
I could be a wistful, “What happened”
or a resounding “What next.”
I could be a girl who dreamed of success,
and got bigger bags beneath her eyes.
I could be anything,
and end up nothing.
Or I could be everything