Keep it wet
where my footsteps were,
to wash away the melancholy
that draws you in
whenever times are hard
to make them harder,
sadder, and not true.
Let my shoes fall off
like those you see in the middle
of the highway;
so randomly placed.
Let me lose mine on the
Highway 101; for all to see.
Losing the dirt collected
and wrong roads taken. Never
again to remember where I was,
what I did,
who I was, back
then. Long ago
where it hurt to be.
now, I’m free.
I can’t see where I’m going
only that I am
going.
Author Bio:
Debbie Whitmore is a member of the Occaneechi Saponi Tribe and was born in a small town in North Carolina. She currently lives in Sonoma, California. She is a writer, poet, and author working to create a small patch of compassion and shed light on how we are more alike than different, connected than separate and loved than not. She holds a bachelor’s degree in political science and a master’s degree in business. She writes policies and training content for a software company.