Thought Buckets
By Christy Birmingham
Your thought buckets line with worries of
The falling sun, your number of days left, and
Whether your glass slipper will fall off on
The stairs you still have to climb.
The buckets mold to the shapes of your
Past, with stargazed lining and kisses
That took first place after midnight.
Your thoughts run free like
The river that he showed you before
He took his last breath, when he
Put his arms around you and led you
Into one more dance, free as the clouds.
He took your spirit with him.
What is left is your wonder about
Holes in fragile buckets, and
The dripping moments when
You wonder about new waters.
Gently, you pull the handle of today.
Gently, you carry on your back the
Moon of that day spent at the river as
You brace yourself for the stairs to come.
