May 5 by The Running Son
the new write child
Shine a smile upon me
gently, and I will write with ease,
soft flick of the pen, so
easy, like super easy, like gravy,
like a child, without a thought, playing.
Or maybe like a light going on, a light-baby,
an indigo-child, crazy wild
freedom to bleed on a page,
so young, no blood clots, clogs
second thoughts, stops or obstructing jogs
of apprehension, no years
of fearing our raw open child-ears
will hear dissension in the creative ranks,
structure-stuck, banked-in, will they give a
tucked in, snug up-to-the heart dream-baby thanks?
Or thank the gods that offer words freely?
It’s not like giving a child a spank,
but a hug really.
by Jim Aldrich