An Early Spring

She says, "I'll race you," and does,
And wins. I'm hardly a challenge,
Worn out from work, hollowed
By cigarettes, two times her age.
I keep panting long after her
Breaths are calm. We walk under
Bare branches and into a park.
She's holding my arm as if
Fearful of drowning, and I let
Her hold me, feeling the opposite.
I could rise into the air if let
Go, and I don't want to rise.
I like where I am, and I like
How she makes my heart race.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 17 times
Written on 2012-02-28 at 01:42

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