Tuesday, April 27, 2010

fumbling little hands attempting to

I
fumble

over this little patch of dirt
called earth
a token of responsibility given me
falling to
p i e
c es
in my hands
dry -- peppered in - between - the cracks

I
attempt
recreate (to) using my palms and a little pool
of water
making and remaking with imperfect clay
outcomes
unknown
unknowns
unbecoming
I come to and remember
realize

I fumble.

1 comment:

  1. this poem is lovely how you worded it and placed the letters all artistically too.

    I can see how that hairstyle is similar to Anne of Avonlea!!

    +Vicki/Victoria+

    ReplyDelete

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