Seven Little Rubber Bands
May 10, 2021
Seven little rubber bands
Looped about my little finger
Marked with scratches from the sand
As a cold hawk lingers
–
Do you ‘wait a fruitless path?
Father dear, your eyes are tired
Worked to death like dying fires
Finding silence doing math
Acting cold, like you’re hard-wired
Takes the room where souls can sprout
–
Think of me, your little girl
Waiting quiet, hair in curls
Whisked away as you just doubt
What life will spout
What time puts out.
–
Seven little rubber bands,
Snapping at my will
I spent them all without regret
And chances are that I’m its kill
Throat torn from a hawk that watches
Waiting for my blood to spill
–
My hopes and dreams and future too
Then my eyes water, heart can’t still
When Father snaps my quill like sticks,
A home for hawks, whose cries- so shrill
–
Seven little rubber bands
Seven little chances
Rotting in their flying dance
Instead of seeds, poured in our hands.