Mud Pies Forever

Mud Pies call to me

And there I sit, again.

I am six and the mud oozes

And drips

and cakes

and clumps

And it’s not half as messy as

My smile. I am a top-notch chef,

A connoisseur of simple happiness

And I bake the mud right out of

The pastry until it’s way past time

To go in and I’ve made hundreds—

No, thousands of sloppy pies.

The taste of Imagination

is pure deliciousness

And my palate is quenched like the

Time I sat next to my lonely friend

Instead of keeping with the crowd.

I wipe mud on my pants and begin again.

The mud is mine, And I am it.

***

And the reverie is over and

Now I have a girl of six

And she drips,

She cakes,

And she clumps mud

And her smile is messy, too.

She is a top-notch chef,

A connoisseur of simple happiness

And she invites me to stay long

and bake hundreds—

No, thousands of pies and I

Agree and before I know it,

I am her playmate and my palate is quenched

Because I choose it to be, like the

Times I sit with my girls to play together,

instead of doing my grown-up thing,

to sugar-coat and entertain our

imaginations.

We wipe mud on

our pants, and smile. The mud is ours,

and we are it.

Linking with Emily today....