Mari the World Maker

OK so I was supposed to post this yesterday, for "Writing Draft Wednesday" But I was tired, and now its Thursday.

Why is there a D in Wednesday?

Anyway here is my poem:

Mari draws maps.

Or, in actuality,

maps draw Mari.

Every land she draws 

grew and blossomed in her mind

The first time she saw a

Globe

she thought it was the greatest thing

better than Picasso or Van Gogh

because it was all around her

and always would be

even when she was buried

in the sweet dirt 

that tasted like yams.

Right then

her mind started building highways