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Deadly Me
September 25, 2017
A leaf falls gently,
Whisking across
My tanned calf
In the mid-summer air
The soft breeze blowing through
My supple frame
As I lay on the puffy
Grass, my arm stretched out
To the limits of the world; my hands gripping
The frail, limp threads of grass, pulling
Out of the fresh dirt. Guilt
Fills me, as I ponder the loss,
The ruin of our harmony.
© Michelle W., Ada, MI
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