Skipping Beats

If I had it to do again,
I would go to the top
of that mountain, this time,
turn up the wind, and sway
to chords of another color;
tiptoe on the edge of reality.

Laugh, with him
until gold turns into stars,
get tipsy on his whispers,
drunk on our love;

poems in our pockets
every day in April.

Save those rose petals
and every love letter
stacked, wrapped in ribbons
on the highest shelf of the cupboard
for a rainy day
when I don’t feel quite so pretty.

Let’s dance, even if we think we can’t!
Dip me, twirl me, let us fall,
even if it hurts.
Get up and try again.
Watch a rainbow until it fades
into yesterday’s remnants of sky.

Cry. Feel.

Finally, let those walls slip down.
Pick up the broken pieces of myself
and build something new; someone new,

but with the same heart, skipping beats
like a worn out musician,
keeping warm; hat on the sidewalk
and the jingle jangle
of nothing but time.

~

~
~a poem a day in April NaPoMo (for National poetry month)

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