Freedom is . . .
painting the walls of my house any damn color I see fit
a rumbling Harley under my ass and the road stretched out before me
a long walk with my old dog accompanied by the sun and the breeze
summers without students and papers and inane in-services
a good book and hours (or days) in which to spend reading it
a restful night made such sans snores and constant cover-stealing
telling my nearest and dearest anything without judgment or backstabbing
a son and a daughter becoming what they want to be
a buffet before me and an empty plate to fill however I choose
drinking a beer on my porch and watching the day turn to night
a chat with my best friend no matter the distance, the time, or the topic
a paycheck to feed my family and buy me the books I love
driving cross country with the radio up and the windows down
a cat stretched out in the sunlight coming through the window
a song that makes me dance across my living room and back
writing whatever I want, whenever I want and wherever I want
a kiss that releases my heart from the prison it once inhabited
a bill totaling about 200,000 dollars and worth every single cent
Tammy Marshall
May 18, 2014
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