a poem a day for a year #260

by Amy Turn Sharp


you called me a wordwitch today
parked in a Toyota on a slick brick street
my mouth launched the broad smile
you knew back then
before my smile
had a subtext
was shifty
when it was only muscles flexing
across the panoramic gorgeous cow town
the Ohio air chilly
and you always had a camera
me a pen
trees
there were so many trees

and I was just about to discover the world
dark
intense
moody
little storms inside of us
rising and flooding
the human heart
the people
until I learned to swim
until I took my place at the
foot of the end of the world
practicing spells