What does poetry mean to me, you ask?
granddaughter?
I must say,
poetry
makes me fly...
"How, Grandma, how?" she asks.
I can go up
and see a rainbow...
when she is dressing up!
"How, how you can see it? Grandma, please..."
... She is curious now...
You see, Jess, poetry opens borders--
there are no lines...
"But how does she dress up? Grandma, how, pronto ..."
Oh, females and dresses!
Simply, child,
she just borrows some colors
from a crayon box!
She opens her big brown eyes,
grins and exhales....
"Ohhhh..."
That's what poetry is to me,
child.
I borrow colors, and images and love, blend them all
in a big bathtub!
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