Fears, Feelings, and Wants

There are certain weekends and holydays

when I feel myself somewhat insecure.

I worry whether walking ghosts have occupied

the void of empty streets and closed doors,

looking at me as an intruder or suspicious

on their ways.

I miss hearing the sound of hammers and

hoes, the strident come and go of saw blades,

the brushing of pens on paper or keyboards

being typed throwing feelings over the world.

I love the imprecations of painters and artists

when they can’t find the pure art they look for.

I love children screaming through the sidewalk,

running endless races only they are capable of.

I love the noise of people on streets and alleys,

corners and places,

jointly seeking to move the hard wheels of time.

I love hearing someone making something,

even if it is the buzzing of bees.

Published in TreeHouse Arts, Sept. 6, 2017.


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