Sophie Lynne Creations

I used to stare at the ceiling

I’d stare for hours after my mom would tuck me in

and crack the door

and my mom knew that,

all moms do

so mine showed me how to stop

staring at the ceiling

you start at your toes

work up to your head

and you move each part:

mattress connection

massages of the air

toes

painted silver

the chain of balls

that holds the pen to the desk at the post office

each mini globe a servant to its neighbor,

forced friends, soldered lovers

holding on for dear life

legs

two straws in a gin and tonic

bobbing and swaying

a klutzy waltz

swimming around the glass

they settle together

a plastic pair

like the spiral of a notebook

a partnership of metal wire that pierces through papery flesh

over and over it winds

confidently as if it knows

it is the very thing keeping every piece together

chest

two brass door knobs that ache from all the twisting

churned to their limits,

each time,

spring back

resting position, resume waiting

always part of the journey and never the destination,

they feel both useful and used

and now I’m feeling vulnerable, as the world walks up my

neck

I take two pills each morning

wash down the insecurities and labels with compliments:

dilution

but I think one got stuck in the wrong tube.

can I cough it up?

my tongue

zambonis across chapped lips

the corners, little nicks

that hint down, tempt a frown

a speck of blood sits in the center of the bottom lip

a wet autumn leaf

a piercing of winter

eyebrows

dance as two birds dive towards the water

nearly colliding and yet we breathe

into knowing they never would

their bellies graze the water and it drips off them

as they travel back up

often unclear whether they are fighting or mating

whether they hate or love

my eyes still cut out and glued to the ceiling

wrinkled collage

I flip over and start at the top this time

and I let my birds dive closer