Spindly Legs
if the mind has legs
they are spindly
like a spider’s or vines on a plant
which turn, wrap, squeeze, intertwine
without secure direction or honest intention
you look at me
with my spindly legs
but your smile is mischief
like the Cheshire cat’s up above
clinging to a branch in the dark
I find you hard to trust
and I’m sure you’d say the same
Movie Magic Omission
munching on an apple in the kitchen because its 2:00 am
snoring because of the five-block traffic jam
licking the yellow strip on an envelope because it’s somehow still 2003
scrolling through dog videos because the test isn’t tomorrow
fishing for the last lucky charm in the bowl because you’re stubborn, damn it
gasping for breath because a Target run can’t wait
nothing is like the movies.
Picnic
Why does it always rain on picnic days?
I stumble, picking up the pace
Still, I’m just shy of the group
that somehow knows one another
deeper than I can dive,
which isn’t saying much
They exchange stories like money
smiles like candy
laughs like party favors
before I stop
as they spread, starfish
on beach blankets
and swallow sandwiches
not knowing
that I know
the rain is on its way
because it always rains on picnic days
The Heat in August
Cotton swabs strung along a sea of blue
threading through gusts of wind
which carry me to a place
white-walled and cement-floored
walked on with worn shoes
thinned with time and eager energy
I reach a door I’ve never opened
with a beating in my chest
that screams excitement, but the nerves linger
catching on breaths
wiping my beaded face–
a gift from the August heat
a new beginning
