Freedom
by April Schwamb McKale
lingers on tastebuds
I roll the word off
tip of tongue
no one to answer to
I can do anything
leave every door open
Here I come
I want to run link an antelope out of control
let me carve each memory into flesh
drive my nails into supple earth
coursing through every vein
all senses back from slumber
bare, navel, arms and legs
soak in rays almost forgotten
each breath remembering smells of honesuckle, rose, lily of the valley
as if they danced before me in the street
the bare, cold earth squishing between my toes
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