squishypoo

somehow

             it's never
       the
                      way we

              planned

   it.

The grass looked greener, but each
determined, purpose-filled stride
carries me deeper into the mire

ever slower, I                                 thread
                                     my way
through the minefield of
unseen
                  wet
          spots

terrain negotiating
with my store of fearful
experience, my
accumulated heavyness

of being.

Sasha

small girl barely three years old, runs laughing in the wind
toward the swings oblivious, her red ski jacket
burst of colour ten sizes too large, she is a beach ball,
a red balloon bouncing across the landscape,

squishy squishysqush squishish squish squishypoo squish

my
own feet
cautious, prudent
sink

deeper into the mud.