We jumped
colored numbers, etched in forever;
trying to catch stars, dreams and wishes.
Our only obstacles were lack of imagination,
small pebbles, coins, game pieces...
and our parent's fears.
Which we eventually inherited...
'Cuz we all gotta reach that wall
of their reality...
sometime in our lives.
The boogie man became
walking monsters that
slammed
closet doors
behind him,
and raced into our every day's light.
Snatching covers that once shield our eyes,
exposing the harsh, the mundane.
Back then,
our youthful hands couldn't trace the
heartache of the day,
keep them neatly between
the lines
or capture them in glass jelly jars
to examine,
and later release.
Our shaky innocent hands,
were once invincible.
Convinced by spring in step, skips, hops and hope.
One, two, three, four,
five..
Each as unique in shape and size,
nonsymmetrical, nonsensical, whimsical.
But, white chalk lines, aren't the same anymore..
They tell different stories.
They no longer contain colored numbers and shiny stones,
But proof of desperation and stolen souls.
Life doesn't allow you to go back in time,
after you've touched the silhouette of an outline..
made a misstep or mistake.
After anxiously, excitedly, happy
just, happy to be alive smiles
tripped us up...
I jumped colored numbers
hoping to touch the tip of stars
dance with astronauts..
take showers in meteors,
drink from the milky way
and twirl in the dust of dawn.

to be continued

kdtaylor 2006
section 8 coffe publications
all rights reserved