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Celestial MAG
June 7, 2013
When I was a child I thought I'd be
The sky. I pretended I would use my
Eyes to paint myself blue, talk to the trees,
Inhale the clouds and exhale my heart by
Letting it beat in time with the wind. Snow
Would line my lungs and shield me from black ice,
Hail, and airplanes. Up there no one
would know
That I didn't color inside the lines
And my fingerprints were acrylic paint.
The stars would sing my favorite lullaby
Plucking a string theory rhythm, tainted
Gray with ash. And I wouldn't need to fly,
A child doesn't need wings to be the sky.
© Dat L., Worcester, MA
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