Tuesday, March 8, 2016

Breaking Hold (A Poem)

Breaking Hold
By Stephanie Jeannot © 2016

Climbing to get there was a trip.
All the time in space I had to skip.
Ratting at windows in the heat of the day.
Running through breezes in my crawling play.
Cradled in the arms of experience to start.
A spring the groundhog saw; early March.
And here we are in the fifties walking out unlayered.
You'd think my retirement from forever would be a persuader.
To live skipping through parks breaking hold of my mom’s hand.
To write up this schedule of a life that I plan.
Whipped enough by the rulers of the nuns at day school.
Still with a float around my waist in a mystery pool.
International woman's day they say it is right now.
Winging it to the whereabouts of beyond my cooing sounds.
So young you look they say; aging well I guess. It is.
And on the present markings of time on which I bid,
for a chance to have it; life! And live it in a stream.
Ragtime calls and I run to catch the cones of dreams and ice cream.

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