anna

i am flipping through the channels. i am propped against a pillow. it is warm inside the house, but i am ready to go. on the side of the house is my friend. i hop inside through his broken sunroof. i try to wake him up. we try to leave together, but the trying is no use. i can’t fix you and you can’t fix me. because we can’t go away. i love you…

there is a crack in the wall that i follow until i reach your feet with my eyes. my eyes and your feet are friends, but the crack is a mystery.

why did you make it? are you mad at me?

my eyes fall on the small toes. you, more than the others, you would tell me if you were upset.

there is one that likes to brush against things, just enough to make them feel like they are not alone. he creeps up and does the job, and then he is done and there is no more job to b done. he tucks himself into a bed of flowers and he ties his ballon to the sturdiest stem. he sleeps until he is in a new place, smoking a cigarette under an umbrella…

you are far away and small and someone spilled you on the stairs. why would someone do that to you. they are crinkly and worn and the paint comes off in hard globs. and i am here, sitting on the stairs.

but it is warm and nice sitting there in your puddle. i follow your puddle as it moves down the steps and onto the cement…

the big adult scooped me up. he tucked me into his steaming bowl of ramen and said it would be Ok. in between the noodles i was warm and tender. floating. a boat. a boat like a bird and like blades of grass.