"We are more alike, my friends, than we are unalike." ~Maya Angelou

Tuesday, November 17, 2015

Poem: Carried Out of Myself

That afternoon, the wind
hurried thousands of leaves
through the air and along sidewalks,
sending them skipping across streets,
yards and my old brown boots.

Not wanting to miss the party,
I stepped into the swirl.

With arms outstretched I
let myself be blown away;
running, rising, floating,
rushing along, at the mercy
of the November wind.

Stumbling against a leafless Maple,
I sank breathless to the ground and lay
flat on my back, eyes open,
barely daring to breathe,
my ears full of the sound and 
feel of wind and flying leaves.

I don't know how, but suddenly
time and my own life fell away.
I was no longer a little girl in a
faded green jacket. I was a leaf,
with neither words nor wishes.
I lay in a drifted heap with the others,
waiting in the darkening day.

Closing my eyes, I pretended to sleep,
still as a stone, listening, in that
quiet space beneath the wind,
between the worlds.

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