sunshine tutu her way through
the tulips and barefoot beg this
grass to cartwheel us whipfast
into a long slow summer of cool
nights and fireflies and street
-lights as curfew. She wants a
periwinkle marker and enough
smooth creamy paper to cover
the world. She’s got whip cream
on her chin and she just can’t
care. She’s no longer scared of
the boogieman and she’d like
to invite him to dance. She’s
full of vim and whim and (tee
hee) maybe a little rum because
at least on paper she’s of age.
She hears headbands are all
the rage, so she’s modeling three.
She’s about to go on a poeming
painting ranting raving rhythm
to her blues spree, and you are
cordially invited. She’s gonna dip
her toes in the sea and chalk up
some rocks and see if she can
(iddy doo da) her way into the day.
She’ll swallow the moon and swoon
at this cobalt sky and run with
through the sprinklers.
She’s bustin’ out and without a
doubt she’s about to sing something
slightly off key. She’ll sell you her
threadbare soul for the blueberry
on your Bomb Pop. She’s not gonna
stop spilling and swaying and sashay
-ing herself silly until the sun’s long
snoozing or it starts to rumba rain. She’s
using all 64 crayons and she’s about
Awesome visual and prompt from over at Pink Girl Ink.