February 8, 2017

As a toddler,
stubby legs, chubby feet, and knobby knees
trudge me to the edges of my imagination.
Most times those edges don’t fit
neatly with those of my backyard.

Around and about 10 years old,
my parents trust rusty, wobbly pedals
take me to Lily’s house 3 streets down,
but sometimes I’ll take the long way…
usually a new long way.
To find a old oak to climb,
or a stray cat to cuddle.

At 16, the inevitable happens,
and I think my parents might just faint.
Everything seems to expand before my eager eyes.
The windshield is a bit scratched,
and I try not to blink… for safety.

Graduation slams into us full force,
and I notice the fear that’s been irritating
their irises since I was little.
I know they hope my studies have sated,
but my empty passport glares back at me.

The summer breeze steals me,
and plops me on the back of a roaring, titanium bird.
Where will it take me?
To cold castles with cobblestone?
Or maybe trails of trees with tales to tell?
But never home.

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