I’ll spread my arms to the wind,
it blows my hair
wild, as a hurricane.
Mouth gapes, scooping gulps of air.
Breath catches,
as I open myself to being—
— Bring it!
I’ll fly, full-fledged,
thrash through turbid waters,
traipse over trails,
bump down bouldered slopes,
fling myself toward the future—
—Challenge me!
Breathe deep old girl,
this is it,
give yourself over.
Let your senses absorb all
until existence disappears.
Squirm and roll,
rub it all in,
——‘til it’s gone.
Margaret Krusinga lives on sixty acres in mid-Michigan. She raises chickens for meat, and preserves her garden’s bounty. She had her very first poem, “Diagnosis,” published in “The Beautiful Space – A Journal of Mind, Art and Poetry.” She pens poems leaning toward nature and the meaning of life.
