Unseasonably warm for winter:
laughter of playground children chimes
through an open window. Hypnoptized
by the crisscross of Double Dutch, my toes
appear like Kahlo’s at the end of the tub,
in scuffed shoes, knee socks that will not stay up.
Dustmen call to each other; a slow rhythm
of indistinguishable words. Bring out your dead.
I continue to jump rope. Jacks and Staley ball
the color of boiled yolk, ever-present scent
of distilled Midwest corn. The bell rings. I race
to be first. Meanwhile the bathwater has gone cold.
Innocence trickles from my hair, pools in my navel.
I stopped running when I grew breasts.
Bin Day by Tess Kincaid video to gif | |
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| People & Blogs | Upload TimePublished on 13 Dec 2015 |
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