they fall from my hand like gifts

by amy sharp


I feel most at home in the untidy places
a crumpled bed
old swing set chains
noise like bells
hair in knots
the edge of the thorny forest


I count small rocks in the creek at my father's land
I let them drop one by one by my feet
into the cold water
each a wish
a splash
as a child I would sit for hours and plan the future
I knew this would happen 
my heart has always beat this way