How could one not love Maya Angelou?
Her name. Her voice. Her words. You can almost feel the touch of her hand when reading her work. She could find beauty unlike anyone amid the struggles of her life. Now an angel never to be forgotten. She's the type of person that could inspire anyone to want to write. I feel like I took her work for granted. I should have known more about her.Here's something I wrote. It's not about Maya but it is about seeing, smelling, feeling everything, and finding some joy and peace amidst it all. And feeling like the training wheels just came off and you are totally ready for whatever comes next …
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the world becomes small again
the smell of fabric softener
synthetic perfume
and diesel exhaust
the plastic of the water bottle
muffled thumping and rattling
2 jackhammers
the rhythm is gonna getcha
a man lacking several teeth shouts “play the numbers! i do”
the chain whispers secrets whenever i can listen
wind hums like a current rushing faster than me
a seagull announces something
a shapeless cloud remains speechless
moments sparkle past like reflections on waves
sharp. transient.
a disconnected landscape
am i part of this world
or debris unwanted?
thoughts bubble up and try to stay
but dissolve like pop-rocks fizzing self-importantly
then sink under the surface
eyes to the wind
meandering faceless vehicles
blinking. beeping. coughing.
swerve
detour.
glance back.
coast
look down at the blur
a jarring memory triggered unexpectedly
by the scent of a thing or a someone unknnown
of things forgotten not forgiven
forget.
pedal faster
a yellow light just changing
stand
signal a turn
the smell of rain
a flowering tree
I am a lone seed surfing a river unaware of my purpose
I go under the surface, if just for a moment
the world becomes small again
a rumble of thunder somewhere in the distance
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