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.

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