People Are Poem by Christopher R. Kennedy

People are the clay of the world around them—the potter
They are made to be molded and shaped by muddy red fingers
That look as though they grew out of the Cliffside
People are not just creatures with blood and organs, made of cells
Tiny things with tails and insides of their own
People are every beautiful sunset they’ve ever watched disappear
Red and gold and pink colored on the sky like crayon
People are every minute they’ve spent walking in the rain
Sharing an umbrella with their younger brother after missing the school bus
The rain drops descending upon them like a vast army
People are every peanut butter cookie snuck from the cookie jar
And every first kiss shared under the old gazebo
A gentle one, that evaporates into the air like a firework
After their lips part and they dare to open their eyes
People are every dog that has ever licked their cheek
Every outcast they have ever befriended at the lunch table
As well as every one they’ve pushed around after school
Every tear shed for a grandmother, not during the funeral, but years after
Every note struck during a piano recital
Every blade of grass they pluck from the ground
Every cumulus cloud they see which resembles a dragon
Every hissing sigh whispered when they open a soda bottle
Every smile they share with a total stranger from across the street
People are fluid, like the rippling water in a river
And change is our most blessed blessing, our most precious possession