You watch as leaves skate off
on a gust of wind.
When you were five,
you galloped—
because you were a pony;
because the sun made streaks
across the floor;
because your legs could bend
and lips could whinny;
because your thoughts
were always flowing, flying—
tail and mane—
through clouds and rainbows
as you tied your shoes.
And now you ponder metaphors.
It’s August, and the clouds are fat
like jellyfish, or cupolas.
You see distant sky over rust-red hills.
All your life, you’ve felt
you’re headed somewhere.
You watch two sycamore leaves
turn cartwheels side by side
along the sidewalk.
You still have far to go.
is an active member of the literary community in San Diego County. Her creative work appears in The San Diego Poetry Annual, Blue Heron Review, Poetry in Motion, and Teacup Magazine, and was featured in Poetry Super Highway (29 September–5 October 2014). She is a recipient of a fellowship from the Oregon Institute of Literary Arts, and is working on her first book.