finding the smallest spaces large, heavily tapestried and stinking of earths. digging hoe fingers into the rows between planted hairs taking lobes into my most patient of mouths. leaving coffees sitting on the scattered surfaces of a new old home, the smallest of shared spaces. filling in shapes with my own. putting the flowers and pinks where i want them to be. spending the money it takes to get home. scissors the only sure extension of my warm weather hands. hearing the buzz of the bathroom from far down the hall. shouting sneezes through the stairwells. begonias on my window sill. taking songs into my hands. laced up the leg. what will we do, come thursday night? flat heeled on the tile, then raised up on the worn balls of my feet as a wiggledance i create to better fill the space when i brush my teeth. hands feeling through cotton the cold felt by the heat. implied dome. hang a lightbulb from the ceiling; what an idea!
1 week ago