Still Practicing

I detoured around the construction

and found it on the next block—

chalk on the whole stretch of sidewalk.

House. Sun. Names. A road that stopped

at the edge of the next cement square.

The kids were gone. The chalk was bright.

I stood there in the cold and stayed

a little longer than felt right—

grown adult hovering over

a house the size of someone's hand.

One name written three times, each larger—

like whoever wrote it was trying to understand

how much room a name deserves.

The sun had eight uneven rays.

The road went nowhere. I stepped around it.

Looked back once. Rain in a couple days,

or one—I don't remember.

The chalk was still bright. The name

in three sizes, each one bigger.

Still learning. Still staking its claim.