Life Scurries

[judecorp]

In my mind's imagination, there is a house, with a small yard, and an old tree. There is a birdfeeder, and a tire swing, and crunchy leaves. The ground is soft and damp and spongy, pre-mud. Off in a corner, against a fence, is a plastic outdoor slide, upturned, discarded in a small nostalgic heap of "when I was little" toys.

In my mind's imagination, there is a refrigerator with neon magnetic alphabet letters holding colorful drawings. There are torn coloring book pages, the crayon marks seeping outside the lines. There are papers with gold stars, a lunch box, a backpack with bright cartoon characters.

In my mind's imagination, life scurries from the heap to the tire swing to the back door, and stands in front of the refrigerator gallery with muddy knees and mussed hair.

~//~

and i couldn't love you / any more / than i do right now / and The Furies that i feared / were Eumenides to lead me here / here i linger / and the cadences we hear / may grow different in coming years / still i'll tell you / that i couldn't love you / any more / than i do right now / and if you should ever leave / then i would love you for what you need / i could still tell you / that i couldn't love you / any more / than i do right now