The Pen That Is You

There, in the meadow
we stole the world, our whole
childhood in a stick
off the side of the road.

We bat down history re-
scaping ground South of town,
whittling away the sharpest years
by slowly growing out of them.

The pen that is you, – tucked
in a craftsman hinged box
still croons to its tall grass sister
softly singing,  all flesh is fleeting,


a nod to my brother Shawn,
who whittled me a Sunflower
wood pen, to remind me
of home; of then. QKJ prompt


11 thoughts on “The Pen That Is You

Type your words here:

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s