Strings

When I was young I did not want to change things.
I was like a sheet drying on the line,
waving, watching cabbage butterflies go by.
I was a cabbage butterfly
dancing around the sheet,
I was a waterfall of silver water in the sun,
I was dragonflies,
a tiny fossil in a big pile of shale,
and an enormous luna moth in porchlight.
I did not know my mother,
who sat in the kitchen like a puppet.

As I write and grow older by degrees,
I realize how often I forget to go outside.