Each blade

of grass strokes

My ankles as I wade

through a constellation of green.

I’m wading through stars,

But I’m running,

Almost like I am

In a dream.

Laughter ripples the air

Like a tonic.

Blossoms fall like confetti

At a birthday party.

The garden of my childhood.

I left when I was little.

The warm and happy cuddle,

Of someone passed away.

I know if I returned,

My footsteps would not fall

like sunny raindrops,

But teardrops like cement.

The foundations of my first steps.

The site of my first smile.

The muffled echo of my first word…

Fate’s fiendish satire wrote that first word: gone.

It is only a cruel irony

That where I wish I was

Is no longer

A place at all.

Featured image by Charlize Spriggs