Arrogant

Bubu,

You haven’t heard our clacking in a while. 
What have you forgotten?

We remember all those tireless nights: 
swallowed by the game, 
the lively yells that you loved. 

Leaves brush my neck.

Winter breathes and stirs my legs.

I taste the pebbles on my tongue,

blades of grass coat my lungs.

The gravel strains my curves.

Hey, Mr. P,

I saw a paper airplane 
and remembered you.
It's been too long — 
my paper world rips;
these hands are painted with cuts.