i.
prickles of pain touched young feet, young shins, as i sat
drawing on the sunny roof, as i knelt
on the burning cement, granules of rock embedded
in my hands and knees. i covered the pain in daydreams,
shiny steel cups and sugary tea that spilled out and over
the thin lines i tried to color within. as i lived
alone with the wind, i made shapes out of clouds
before it whisked them away, as i wondered
if i could jump from the roof and land
on the tree that cast long shadows on sunny days,
but i was confined by concrete walls
that came up to my chest and couldn’t be climbed
though now, i know i’ve grown too tall
to keep from falling over the side.
iii.
silence grew like mold in wet corners, there and everywhere
but my head, where i was floating,
zoning out to the drowsy buzzing of my voice
in green-tinted darkness, illuminated
by neon painted stars glowing on the ceiling.
i was dancing on the water tank.
i was singing to myself and the watching sun. it
remembered all the places i had been and i
remembered the ocean, though no scent of salt drifted
this many miles inland, i still tasted it in the nausea
that came with spinning and spinning, skirt flaring,
out of control, i spun rings around the roses in my garden.
and we all fell down