forgotten delight, awaiting the broom
Wallflower days hide in a corner
clutching a cake-crumbed paper plate
Donkey days rear end
butt of the joke without a tail
Piñata days swing high
sticking around to take a beating
then spill my guts
greedy grabbing for gossip
hoard, unwrap, savor
Balloon days float then deflate slowly
rise and fall,
tied down by puppet string
Streamer days twist and hang
Disposable, wrinkled, easily torn
Wrapping paper days rip open
crumpled then throw away
Oh to be that trick candle again
surprise delight
the child in all of us
as we gasp fully
exhale passionately
this life of breaths
unsnuffable
Re-light this spark within.
“I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart. I am, I am, I am.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar
