On the eve of ask-me-nots,
approaching time with whispering widows,
seniors must endure apples.
Floating through life on blades of grass
and water bottles
waiting for the right moment
to live again
and to breathe again
and to speak again
we have words
and we have sentences
we have minds
we are sensitive.
we mean something
something more
than just a quick look
or glances through eyeglasses
to make molasses
for traditional sugar cookies
this is my gift…
through the eyes of the peasant
and the stranded
