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.