This poem I feel like speaks for itself, it is set in a precise moment but also all of my life.
I sat on the grass in the park and felt the night rain bleed through the bandage of my blanket, the back of my legs cold, the sunrays kissed my gooseflesh and transformed me.
When I was younger I would rip at the wet grass, green tissue paper fringes, stain my skin with the pulp of summer rains.
I stared up at the Bob Ross sky all its beautiful brushstrokes, clouds drifting away from each other across the cosmic ocean,
I used to think about things in my own way and turn the clouds into the Gods and monsters, fighting epic battle in the history books of my imagination.
I hear the trees sing softly just for me which drift through the sunny air conducted by the revolution of the spiky grass
I once dreamt through my ears and eyes and turned the world into infinite colours in real time, painted myself into the soundscapes of grassy field afternoon.
The tree’s leaves fresh green like the children screaming on the swings who will graze their knees on the asphalt and leave this day with flesh memories
I would run crying across the concrete lava into the cooing arms of my child-minder, fallen from my iron fort of metal frame and flaking paint
I feel blessed as a squish face dog comes over to say hello, his breathing is raspy, I think him for a moment another passing friend.
I used to fear dogs.
A passing bee swoops low and my instincts urge me to swipe him from the sky, the danger colours set me on edge and the buzz like sci-fi technology, but I try to think of him as another friend, for there is room for many more on my imagination island.
I befriended insects and for a moment there were my minions, characters cast in my mid-spring day’s dream.
The sun blazing burns my arms reminds me of reality, that I am here,
That I was here.
I am alive and was alive.
In this and every moment,
in the middle of May.