Caught

Caught

I’m tall enough now that my head
		reaches the window of the back door.
When I dream I cannot hide from what is looking for me: 
		it has seen my face and no longer needs to be invited in.

I’m turning the knob, sparklers bought at a Pennsylvania rest stop
		tucked into the elastic of my training bra
to show the kids who smoke in our yard
		that I, too, can burn.
My father stops me from the stairs and through the window
		I can see them skittering over the fence.

For days I watch the flowerbed they trampled 
		grow muddy in the rain,
						my skin singing of sulfur.

-Published in Moonsick Magazine, Issue 20.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s