Easy rolls me down the steps in footsprings, racing gravity.
Gravity loves me round, doughy, the sweet thing you take a
bite out of.
Of all the granddaughters I am the last, knocked down,
fighting lazy.
Lazy is like easy but harder, sadder. Lazy is stuck, but for
grownups.
Grownups sprouting where you don't look, painting a picture.
Picture us all a bouquet, arms and waists, family is
overbright.
Overbright where fading's a gentler thing, softer would feel
easy.
***
Easy clouds the windows with a slow start, a rainy
breakfast.
Breakfast the sharp beginning, all day the downhill chorus.
Chorus the chirpy memories swearing: it was always like
this!
This is the loping way of the days. They were straight and
sly.
Sly the sneaking sense now: time springs detours and
do-overs.
Do-overs, dominoes, falling and rising their snaking
refrains.
Refrains and endings. Falling and falling is easy.
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