FREE VERSE Poem: #3, by Frances Stevenson

Born broken,
forced into braces,
they said I didn’t walk right.

I move too fast
for greedy fingers.

Tip toeing through the garden —
or was it through life?

One year,
two?

I lost count of
the sunsets.

Rising light filters through east windows.
I can’t help but think of

You.

Your fingers weren’t greedy
but I ran anyway.

Wet grass hits my feet
and I’m on my toes again.