Dirt between my toes,
pen between my fingers.
The blank notebook an ocean of opportunity.
I squint in the sunlight
and inhale the earth’s warm breath.
On my stomach in the dancing grass
the lazy light transcends.
The afternoon is like a dream.
I ponder things that aren’t seen;
I think of you,
I think of me,
and all of life’s great mysteries.
My pen a sword to save or kill.
Like genies grant wishes, so I will
and maybe some of them will come true.
As the grass squints and bends
and sunlight slides and blends,
thoughts go ’round
and rustle with sound.
Gold bounces off tree trunks and opalescent leaves.
I stretch my feet and soft dirt coats the soles.
I brush the knobbly bark behind me
and rest up, scraping.
Then, I write.
You do not know what I pen down.
This is me, this is my soul.
I am wood shavings carved off the big tree,
curling around the finger of God.
Written April 2011, Emma Dumitra.