I’ve noticed, today, that
I gotta write
with my shoes off—

with my bare naked
happy toes
wiggling hello

to the world;
else this mirror soul
be closed til June

til the bird whistles come
back outta tree holes
outta creaky rolltop desks

that they’ve chucked outta grandma’s
house to the side of the street
for a Tuesday pickup.

When I write with my toes out
I write with my soul out
with my teeth bare

my hair in full swish—
important ingredients
in this cake I bake

in this oven I made
with a pile of sticks
from the alleyway.

The reader brings his or her own experience to the poem and creates meaning. Here is my mine: