mouthfuls of cool soil-
contrast to the thirsty grass.
mounds that seem like mountains,
clay that acts as dish,
berries that paint,
moss that becomes a rug.
self-sustainability seems too large of a concept for a child,
but to the girl that never talked
in your backyard
everything seems possible.
i'm the mayor of this town
and you, yes Maggie, you
need to go collect sticks for our pile.
oh don't ask questions
i just told you what to do.
don't think,
just act.
the girl who never talked
let the trees speak for her.
the sky has a thousand words to spill, you know,
if only we are willing to catch them.
wittling bamboo shoots
and decoupaging flowers;
(the ones that had fallen of course, or else Mom would be mad)
all pointless activities
that kept
the girl who never talked
busy
so that she wouldn't feel alone.
she has since been replaced.
long gone are the k-mart leggings,
the tangled hair,
and the perpetually dirty fingernails.
it's only the tiny handprint
of red mexican clay
on the pristine white door to this world
that tells you she was there.
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