{ Angela Shannon: Scattering Dreams. }

[delga]

Scattering Dreams
by Angela Shannon

Dear Mama, I am sitting
under the umbrella tree
with paper and pencil stub.
Since I have learned to write,
angels crowd my shoulders
like Missy's wedding shawl.

Mama, when I am writing
flight enters my bones.
I'm planning the note
for our crossing over to Jordan.
I suspect we will look into the river,
see our faces, see our hands,

wavering on the water,
even see our broad feet
and claim ourselves,
this body belongs to me,
these are my ample arms,
my knobby knees, my knotted hair.

Mama, I come here on Sundays at sunrise
practicing the plan. First, I write
my name, Willa May, then I write Free.
Then I seed my name.
I say Willa May, Free to leaves, to acorns,
to butterflies staring on the grass blades.

The soil under my heels starts whispering,
nudging me to stand, walk, get moving.
Seems like I can't stay on the ground,
those angels swooping around my pencil
are the same ones fluttering about my knees,
scattering dreams everywhere.

--

The first poem I read today. It's so fitting for the gorgeous Sunday morning I am currently experiencing. And, I totally slept well for the first time in ages. Free at last, free at last, thank God Almighty, we are free at last.