The Essence Of Who I Am

I want one of those crocheted fabric fruit bags

That you throw on the counter and fruit topples out of

I want my tea to burn my tongue and its bitterness and charm to consume me

I want poetry to drip from my fingers and toes

I want to remember what its like hearing my sons laugh

He is so beautiful

My typewriter ink leaves art on the pages

The noise of the keys forever implanted on my brain

M.A.P

©