Marie-Rose

14

Alive

We are children in the meadow:
the kind of meadow that Julie Andrews spins on,
singing the hills are alive,
alive with the sound of music.

We are children, alive.
Healthy, strong, growing, blossoming.
The meadow is alive beneath our feet,
heaving the chlorophyllic breaths of Mother Earth.
The grass tickles our frolicking toes
as we are alive,
alive on top of it.

Our mother’s soft eyes squint to see us
as our tripping legs carry us towards the faraway line,
where the blinding blue meets the green.
We’re slurping the sun,
our limbs -- baking potato skins,
golden brown.
Sunshine tumbles through our pores
and sprays from our hair,
but we want more, more.
We are hungry, thirsty, always.
We are alive,
alive.