She Trod Without Care

by on January 20, 2016 :: 0 comments

She trod without care in
the backyard, oblivious of the
dandelion and the ladybug,
until you taught her about
wildflowers and red-black
insects that inhabit this place,
a field meant for her to find
joy, meaning, and life.
Now she watches her steps,
avoiding the yellow flowers,
the Forget-me-nots
the lady bug perched
on Forget-me-nots.
Her head bowed, she combs
our land, even the ants are
shown mercy.
“See, now the girl can’t
have fun,” I say, squeezing
the blue beer can, crinkling it.
And you put your glass
of lemonade down hard.
“She’s not a beast like you.”
Our girl, on her hands and knees,
combing the earth like a mine field.

– James Tyler

editors note:

Early indoctrination of ahimsa-awareness? Oh, well! – mh clay

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