Pinwheels

we played with pinwheels
in the afternoon sun
running down the grassy slopes
a cheap entertainment
but fun nonetheless

a gentle breeze came over the hills
like a squeeze of lime in ice water
something ordinary and simple
to replenish our bodies
every cell, tissue, and organ

and our eternal souls
bound in these imperfect forms
never quite enough
not quite quenching
the thirst inside

then the bugle tattoos, calling us in
as dusk begins to creep into our midst
and we overhear a piquant word
as we dash by, and as a sharp memory
floods us, the tears are a laugh
in the left eye and a cry in the right

wiping them away
though no one will notice
in the diminished light,
we steal closer to the front,
so we can see
the catherine wheels fly

* * * * *

This poem was written in response to the first A Baker's Dozen wordle prompt at a wordling whirl of Sundays. Brenda, over at Beyond the Bozone (you should go read her poems), has been posting wordle prompts every Sunday in April, and now she has dedicated a new blog, a wordling whirl of Sundays, to posting these wordles to inspire us. I encourage you to go check it out; I'm certainly going to play along.