
Another poem from Summer Magic, though I don’t have a picture that works as well for this one. I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with the view from the very top of Wake-Robin Ridge–or at least, the way I imagined it, since WRR only exists in my mind. Hope you enjoy this one, though since it’s from Dad’s POV, it is a bit more introspective than the last.
Bruises
by Marcia Meara
Pale blue eyes,
Fringed in black,
Look out at the world
With the wild, free spirit
Only a ten-year-old boy
Knows how to nurture.
A shock of black hair falls over his brow
As he frowns thoughtfully,
Examining a scab on one knobby knee.
A souvenir from yesterday’s hike,
Acquired while showing off for Dad.
Again.
Long and thin, his scraped-up legs
Have become maps of small hurts,
Tracing each day of his summer.
A scratch here, from…
View original post 94 more words
