Into The Hands of Mrs. Grass

I will keep braiding my hair
In three flawless sections
Until my innocence
My childhood existence
Floods back
Until I am embraced by the warm hands of Mrs. Grass
And igloos
And forest forts
Lined with one layer thick of bricks
And prank-phone calls
And chasing the geese down the beach
Out of breath
Gasping for air
Gasping for the future
But now all I want is my blonde hair
And crooked teeth
And big blue eyes
Taking in everything with eagerness
Ready to grow up
Now all I want is my miniature hands
With fingers I had to grow into
And toes all dirty from never wearing shoes
Gravel and dirt under my nails
Chicken-pox
And bubble baths
With my plastic Noah’s Arc
Floating and tumbling in the waves of foam
Hand in hand with my mother
Creating music with a spoon
With underwear on my head
And a big feather
With a heart ready for anybody
And everybody
Creativity spilling out my naïve head
All around
Creating pools of imagination which reached my ankles
Now all I want is to drown in that pool
Let it rinse my aging mind
Refresh it
Give it hope again
And love
And a youthful spirit
So let’s go back in time
Let’s just keep braiding my hair
Tighter and tighter
In three flawless sections