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