Guest Photographer: Ivy Bean, Age Three

We were outside, sitting on the front deck, when Ivy decided to steal my camera and take some photos. Most were of the grass or cement walk, but a few... well, I think they kind of speak to the day and Ivy herself.

This first one is of me, writing poetry for National Poetry Month. Stay tuned. By the end of the post, I might build up enough nerve to share it.
This is her brother, walking, it looks like or running. In his dinosaur pajama pants. I like the way it's kind of crooked, and the way the path divides, almost like an abstract painting, with boy's legs.
And here is me, examining sticks for a project I did not get done, but still might. Who knows.

Okay, here's my poem. Forgive my nerves. I've got this issue about showing anyone my poems. And it might just be the first poem I've written since last National Poetry Month. I should do some more, whether or not I show them. It feels right to get that sort of creative flow going.

Maybe I'll use my miniature notebook and write some miniature, minute long poems. Those always turn out in surprising ways.

Okay, no stalling, and no apologizing. (I never want any of you to apologize for your work, either.)

CHASING BUTTERFLIES

5 years old, eyes like open
air, we run in the fields chasing little bits of
life above us
chasing the words, the worlds, we are just
beginning to understand. Words like
"flight" "desire"
"solitude".

The sun warms the grass. Bare toes
flexing in the dirt. The pinch of
gravel in the drive. We are
discovering these feet on this ground,
learning the treasures of stones, sometimes, or ladybugs,
or wildflowers, or scuttling clouds. The treasures
of holding something, or letting it go.

5 years old, sky meets earth, and we
so taut
in between.