Childhood is but a flurry
Glitter, winks in sunlight beams,
flung onto carpeted floor after PB&J lunches.
Bubbles, blown to each other's noses,
bounce and burst on summer breezes.
Hair, tossed skyward in swing-set rhythms,
sweeps the ground like skirts of dancers.
Dandelion seeds dip to their partners
And chart new paths to neighbors’ yards.
Fall leaves float to sidewalks in autumnal waltzes.
Snowflakes flit through the sky on rollercoaster rides.
Eyelashes catch wishes,
Crepe paper ripples in the air— gymnasts’ ribbons.
Stars form once-seen, never-seen-again, constellations.
And then
A subway screeches and zips past—
And buses, and people with coffee and briefcases
And a sense of purpose,
And Childhood.
In the crowded avenue, she pauses
And plucks from the air,
With unhurried flair, a shiny gum wrapper,
While the world on rushes.