Chesapeake Child

I think her mind functions in poems. 

An intertwined jumble of similes and metaphors,

Of analogies and homesick nostalgia. 

I imagine it somewhat resembles her hair-

wavy and untamed, yet soft and determined. 

I think her mind functions in poems. 

Her hand finds its home 

settled on her hip while

She stares out at the bay. 

A cup of tea in her tender hands, 

I think her mind functions in poems.

Scrawling fast-paced lyrics in a notebook, 

The sheets of which have scattered,

Fell in piles on her bedroom floor. 

She says she’s pretentious enough 

to leave names uncapitalized.

I think her mind functions in poems. 

Beneath the choppy river, rounded pebbles lie in wait. 

Amidst the chaos, treasures rest. 

I imagine it somewhat resembles her eyes-

Piercing and contrary, yet brash and bold. 

~B.N.