we knit the sun out of abyssinian kitten fur
Asha Fletcher-Irwin


i practiced falling in love by burning dandelions with a magnifying glass
the sun cascaded into the house through every dirty window and i played hide and seek with the shadows but i’d hide and they wouldn’t find me

i fell into a lazy kind of love that was only really important while he was next to me
the rest of the time it was still just me and only me and i liked it that way
i only had enough magic imbued in my fingerprints to save one of us 

and i peeled off dead skin like the child’s wallpaper in my grownup room
i let my cut get infected and the dirt on the rope swing got under my skin leaving dust along my bones and i stitched new frowns for old teddy bears 

i stared into the july sun and let it stain the back of my eyes
cold water tickled the stretch marks on my thighs and flower petals were found stuck to my cheek and smiles turned to half moons turned to full ones turned to 

my mother saying she missed me but i was right there eating the mashed potatoes with too much salt and not enough butter
she said she wanted me to come home in the evenings and maybe i could remember to keep my good velvet dress free of blood maybe i could remember to wash the dishes after dinner instead of practicing picking locks maybe i should remember how we kept it
innocent 
 
 
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