Where I Really Am

A quiet day was full with
wind and warmth and sun.
I was happy and healthy
and though I was working
indoors, behind a counter,
in my mind, I was running
through the grass with my brothers.
My mother was brewing tea,
infusing it with sunlight,
and so it became a beacon
of love and care and refreshment
ready for us when the time came.

In my heart, I was drawing
on the street with chalk of every color.
Friends from all parts
of the neighborhood would be
showing up out of the blue, and
suddenly we would find
ourselves deeply
involved in hop-scotch
until the sun's touch grew long.

In my soul, I was licking nectar
from the spouts of tiny living clover blossoms
picked by my brother's hands.
"This is a really good one," he would say
and hold it out to me as though
it were a chalice of immortality.