dogpoet

Would it be a fingers lacing together
The circular rubbing of your hand on her back
Would it be snaps between your eyes
Would they tell you to pay attention 
Would you listen
Would it be the music of feet on the earth

Evil is caught and corralled
in a corner of the playground
the sweet breeze is caught on my cheekbone
I am caught up in this ink
Words have a hard getting caught in my mouth
When they should

Did it hurt to crane your neck
for so long?
Did he stare into your eyes
Like I stared
Trying to divulge their meaning for his art?
His art
Did you let him use your face
Did you want to be framed in oils for centuries

They are beautiful.
They are hip and cool.
They are swings for tiny people who live in your ears.
They are confidence boosters, like something sweet
And sassy.
They are classy
They make me want to brave unknown pain

Sometimes
Getting older
the passing of time
feels like slipping into a well-worn pair of flats
Only to startlingly find that each day
Or month or year
A new inch of heel jutts from the sole
Or soul
Putting more foggy

Walking up the metal staircase
I pause at the landing
I see a smoky vision of curls and eyeshadow
Mirrors and dusty magic

Walking up the wire stairs
The music thumping faintly in my ears
I find my penguin suit
And go