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  • Lorraine Johnson

[146] Restless

Restless I sit,

as the wind rustles, outside my door

with flocks of birds left unfound,

as frozen flakes fall to the ground.

And I,

chasing dreams not yet defined,

as the hum of life left behind

twinkles back from the sky.

I take a sigh and ask why,

why does the clock tick and move time

yet my feet stand without climb, motionless

—with memories of earth-washed homes,

green palms greeting me in the breeze,

children playing with coconut shells

bare feet lifting white dust to the air,

as culture weaves lives through courtyard walls

and my eyes open, larger-than-life

till the dream is gone and all is bare,

till a vision appears

—so my tears can clear.


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