KJ Hannah Greenberg
and Janet Yandik

Janet Yandik
Inspiration piece

Vitreous Recollections: That Summer’s Glaze
By KJ Hannah Greenberg


Familiar delight, miniature cyncephalus,
Who expertly sidestepped a butterfly-looking leaf,
Amidst further crunchy, colorful tree debris,
While scuffling new things underfoot, snapping their beauty
Beneath mighty, wee sandals such that entire worlds faded.

You were daughter mine. Small pluripotency,
Secret brinell, most ordinarily like a puff’s caress, you
Toddled too low for rings hand over hand, struggled, instead,
To shimmy, in the wrong direction, on the fireman’s pole.
Placated easily, though, by unfussy raita dribbled with honey.

Little sylph, petite sylvan spirit, baby girl, one that repudiated
Bedtime, save for bathy suds, mismatched bunnies, warm socks,
Frolicked in public fountains, around light posts, in sandboxes,
Then behind a rapidly pumping swing, from which
No sister, brother, other, or dog could salvage.

Accordingly, I refused customary gatekeepers’ comforts, kisses,
So mistaken were their words, prayers, songs, deeds.
Sometimes, only a mother knows, feels so deeply
When a shoot’s unnaturally pale, lethargic countenance
Summons up more ouchy tests then merely checking for anemia.

Modest dreamer, prodigious child, universe’s host,
Whose stance spreads more yogic than preschool,
In my mind, privately, you’re still attempting to smile
At pigeons, trying to help them jump full thunder
Into the splash pool’s deepest end.



Note: All of the art, writing, and music on this site belongs to the person who created it. Copying or republishing anything you see here without express and written  permission from the author or artist is strictly prohibited.