It's too sweet:
that bright green tendril,
so delicate, breaking
through the crust of
dry, sandy earth.
It's too simple:
water, air, light,
and one gray speck
so small my childish
fingers fumbled for it
in the wrinkle of flesh
in my folded palm.
It's too delicate:
The memory of her
smile, her patience,
her joy in the everyday
adventures we shared,
like clambering down
rocky paths to run
on a quiet beach,
like seeing our sweet peas
waving like fairies' flags
in the brisk Pacific breeze,
like walking along
a sidewalk glittering with
mica, and pretending
to be blinded by
diamonds in the sun.
(c) 2014, by Hannah Six
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