14.10.07 / mowing

i remember the smell of grass being mown
as tiny droplets of rain began to fall
three mowers make for short work
but they weren't fast enough and
wet grass is hard to cut

i was ignoring the mowing;
somewhere else
flailing like something magical
thinking we could all fly if we
moved fast enough and wished it

the darkening wood of the deck
like a spell becomes something dangerous
i don't know what's happening but
i'm under the benches and sprawling
through the air
buzz of mowers suspending me

is this what flying--
crash to the ground
the buzzing more intense
no pain, just hurt inside
tears mingle with the rain
...is like?

one mower stops
arms lift me and hold me up
to the sky
i cried even harder because
it wouldn't take me

taste of earth and blood
this is our reality--
wet and hard
and humming with ignorance.