Young Poet
When I was young,
maybe about 12,
I would come home
and my Mom would ask me
“Where have you been?”
“Nowhere. I just went for a walk.”
“Who did you go with?”
“No one. I just felt like exploring.”
Oh, I wish that I had been able to say:
“I traveled through worlds and time.
I walked in arroyos that led past the
ancient Natives hunting in the foothills.
I watched a blue-tailed lizard
doing pushups on a sun-drenched rock.
I wondered at the beauty of plants
that grow large and green or blue
in the desert, gourds with large leaves
and sage standing tall.
My sweat fed the air.
I had looked at the high mountain
and understood its texture and drama,
and saw the spirits of the land and sky.
I understood beauty and art.
I shared the high desert with the universe.
And it was all one and different.
I swelled in body and mind with all that is.
My mind split open to breathe it all
in and out.”
But Mom was busy and I was just a kid.
Some things are better to
keep to myself.
Dana Sanford
2019
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