OverTheRainbow

circle: the roundedness of a

marshmallow spent too long in your pocket,

meant for my mouth; the almost-perfect

eternity

of your fingernail as you traced my collarbone

remarking how winglike our shoulders were;

the title page has a heart drawn upon its yellowish hue,

C+M on an arrow, almost but not quite covering

TEN POEMS: VOLUME ONE and I turn the page quick,

eager to see this play out,

the world is colder than before

north winds exhaling dragon breath across the valley and

my doorstep where i wait for the bus (bumblebee against concrete),

rubbing my hands together and

lines on the road paralyze me redefine me reignite a sort of otherworldly longing in me orange blurs into yellow blurs into black lines blink in and out of a parallel existence / red was never a factor in this but you could never chalk red into yo

this old sink,

hanging onto the wall by a thread

and a rusted pipe,

gushes water that still runs clear,

even after the generations of girls 

(in pig- and pony-tails, braids and loose)