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I hate your leaving footprints in the snow.

 

*I think I may have expanded this into a longer poem at some point, but I don’t know for sure. If I come across it, I will post and link hopefully.

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two boys sitting at a table

T:
a paper and pile of crayons
laid out in front of him
will he draw clouds?
probably not
he doesn’t really draw yet
he sits in his booster seat
putting the crayons back
and dumping them again
but his blond curls
are fluffy this morning
like cumulus

J:
he could tell you about clouds
how they are made
we read a book about weather
and he remembered
and we talked about
where water goes
when the sun dries it
and where rain comes from
he knows evaporation
sometimes he remembers condensation
and babies come from volcanoes

*In response to Clouds