soft adventure

behind the jungle gym, the path to Honeypot Brook trod

by Velcro sneakers and a line leader

dallies toward an unimposing shore, a truant outgrowth

of the Quinnipiac River,

tucked-away reminder that I used to have a lisp, used to

expect nothing less than Lily pad rafts

and glow-worms, searching for salamanders like Matilda:

It’s a newt! Finger to map,

I trace the blue crayon scribble through all my childhood

haunts to a dead-end.

//

Publication credit: "Soft Adventure" is forthcoming in The Connecticut Bards Poetry Review 2025