This poem is recovered from the archive, a dusty hiding place for words without a home. Today I’m honoring the teenager who wrote this contemplative piece. Enjoy!
All in the fullness of time / she tells herself / as the tick-tock-ticking / rattles through the room / Waiting for a sign / she listens for hope’s footsteps / while busy with the march / of letters across the page / Fading moonlight counts the hours / forced through night’s passing / as she sneaks inanities / under the wall of dreams / Leaves escape from the spout / of the wicker-handled teapot / falling / with the grandfather’s final breath / Nearsighted, she watches / as the last blackly floating speck / settles to the cup’s tinted bottom / marking the death of another minute / All in the fullness of time / she reminders herself sharply / fighting the tug of impatience / on the hem of her flowered skirt / Still / she listens
Wild Womanista 