spring waxing

this time of year, the shadows stretch whole blocks. i see myself, pinned between a telephone pole and a tree, my legs reaching from where my feet meet the ground to a driveway three houses away. my fingers are vague, just ideas at the bottom of a hand that shifts size depending on the angle of my elbow.

a passing hawk makes me flinch; the shadow intersects mine as if i surely would have been struck in the head, but when i whirl around and scan the skies, it's in a tree across the street. smaller birds are unhappy, too, screeching in confusing at the sudden return of a warm, long sun.

18 March 2018 20:52