I
forget,
when
walking sidewalks
cracked and
growing slowly
against the constraints of the
road
that I need
beauty as much as
food.
It seeps into me
soaked down beneath the skin
as gentle as my grandmother's perfume,
soapy flower smelling.
I am not growing in straight lines
as much as I would like.
I keep pressing against tradition,
cracking the surface of my serenity
green things pushing up
demanding more attention.