quick magic

by kkmeow

As a child I loved to fetch
a fresh trash bag for the bin.
I would hold a neatly folded
plastic edge, wave my arms,
and swell a cool billowy shell.
Marveling at my little black
square’s quick magic, I grew
a bit taller:  I was the cannon
feeding her colossal wind meal,
my square’s first break from
form, freeing her to work.

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