Friday, April 7, 2017

~ growth in cracks ~





As we walked on the sidewalk, she pointed at the sky and informed me that the clouds were dancing. I looked up as well and noticed that the clouds barely moved in the sky. Justine continued that the clouds know secrets we wouldn't be able to understand. I nodded, not really knowing what else to say. She then said that grass that grows through cracks in concrete is proof that we must all push forward, since the grass has been around long before and quite after us. It is the grass and clouds, I said, that give poets the colour to do what they love. We continued our walk under the blue sky, while my mind drifted to Langston Hughes. He and I shared a birthday as well as love for the written word. Did the grass speak to him as it does to my friend? I glanced at Justine, my imaginary real friend, saw how her multicoloured eyes looked at everything as if it were the first time she'd ever seen it. True, I had created her from my mind, yet she took her breath on her own. Those who refuse to die could see her. Those who smell books could feel her fingers on their skin. She looks at you and you can't help but smile. She told me of her home in the Otherworld and how she walks around barefoot. I looked at the cracks on the sidewalk, making sure not to step on the grass that dared to live.


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