Gravel dust feathered the nest
of our four rooms and five souls
in three acres of show me state.
Born middle child loud
I was a dandelion extrovert
in a garden of solitary.
Moon fed on imagination
through screen wire I tucked words
into hours until dreams found ink.
Under school house lamplight
where a raven spoke in Poe’s voice
I found poetry could make sense of my noise.
©Susie Clevenger 2015