Like a Little Child

As I grow older, I’ve discovered that I love watching kids play and discover new things and just being kids. I find it a bit surprising because while I know myself to be somewhat maternal, I’ve never been the girl who would pretend the neighborhood children were her own. I can only guess it all might be a bit of nostalgia making itself known.




what I think and what it thinks are one singing thing
from For the Last American Buffalo by Steve Scafidi


I’ve run out of patience
with the part of myself
I’ve named something
other than the real me
something like
Jocelyn or Brittany

she’s the one who
trusts cab drivers
in temperate foreign
countries to take only
enough colones as payment
from the arc of colorful
notes in my hand

she believes my heart
when it whispers to her
that the world and it
can be one singing thing
then she talks about
teaching the world to sing
I feel the slap I deliver
in my own stinging mouth

Curious to see more of my writing?  Visit me – Brenda Joyce Patterson – on Facebook, Twitter, and my website.

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