Breadcrumb #452

CLAUDINE NASH

One October
a wind will rise

and lift all the parts
that slipped from you

each time
you traveled

too far from
yourself.

They had spilled  
everywhere. A

sliver here, an
edge there, a spot

of belief on
the table.

Once,
you dropped a fistful

of thought deep
into the dirt

and it wound
itself all

around the
grass seed.

(It’s no wonder
the path pulls

your mind and feet
in twelve different

directions and
jogging has

become such
a bear.)

Now,
during this storm,

the world will whirl,
but you will sink

your toes
into the trail

and stop
squirming.

The wind will toss
years of dreams

and debris
under your feet

so when you walk,
your strides and steps

will fit firmly
together.

Perhaps a smidge
of rusty gift

will blow by
or a speck

of third grade
will fly

into your
eye,

and when you
you look down

at the windswept
ground,

bit by bit,
you will

find
your way.

• • •