Rob Sienna

Plunkett popped into morning
with a stretchy, giggly grin,
‘cause a myth he’d lost last Tuesday
came tiptoeing back again.


It tugged him down a golden path
he swore he’d never seen—
past yesterday’s old grumbles
and the muck where he had been.


His inner kid,the loud one,
shouted, “Hey c’mon, go play!”
So Plunkett skipped toward wildflowers
that waved him on his way.


They whispered little secrets—
like flowers sometimes do—
about how hearts get dusty
when they’re tucked away from view.


So he dropped his heavy armor,
all the worry, all the doubt,
and felt a fizz of freedom
sparkle up and bubble out.


A sunbeam winked and opened
a door behind the day,
and Plunkett—barely thinking—
let his feet lead him astray.


Inside he found a quiet place
that hummed beneath his skin,
a cozy sort of hollowness
that opened space within.


And there he heard a whisper,
soft as memories that start:
Loving life assiduously
heals a wounded heart.


So he scooped the words like marbles,
tucked them snugly in his shirt,
and marched back out to daylight
feeling sweeter than dessert.


Now everywhere he wanders,
he leaves sparkles when he starts—
’cause Plunkett learned that loving life
is how you mend your inner parts.