they sternly stressed,

not to climb the granite steps,

where ivy-whispered promises

have tendrils that possess

the poisonous reminder

of the seriousness,

of raising a foot

above the cracks,

where night crawls

and wriggles to descent.


i was child

alive in the effortless,

without the carpet bag of regret,

the wooly-bear that rolls to protect,

predicting the weather

in perceptible hues.

so i went with no shoes,

as i usually do,

while the pressure cooker

rattled its violent spew,

attempting to call me home.


home, beneath the pines

that sung lullabies

and ground that branched

with berry sweet.

is it defiance or self-reliance,

this courage to bare the jugular

to your tender, stubbled kiss?

as i reminisce ,

seven sisters rain confetti,

fireflies sparkle beneath the trees,

fox prints bespeak a gentility.

who wouldn’t choose

to be free?


© M.G. Iannucci 2018

Art by Kate Powell

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