Give Me the Outdoors
Computers are not natural for me
I did not grow up knowing how to swipe
Scrolling up and down meant parchment paper
Bringing thoughts of ancient Rome to my head
Database, laptop, I-phone, were unknown words
Not developed yet, unheard of, not fathomed
I speak the language of trees, the sun, cloud talk.
Doing my best to imitate the trills and squawks of birds
I know my brain cannot duplicate beak talk
And yet I try, feeling a kindship to everything outdoors
Lying sometimes on a mound of dirt, feeling loved
There is a reverence here I cannot feel at the end of a swipe
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