we are two small girls
quick feet on a square of purple plush.
on the other side of the doorknob, hands demand our necks
and there is panic
her red mouth pressing out a scream.
i flutter behind plastic-hangered dresses bought on sale.
we climb each other's knees
as if in a box shaped closet
there is somewhere to reach.
every time, an escape appears
a dark tube in the wall
our small brown bodies thread the way out
bellies scraping dimension
dolphin kicking to anywhere, now
two heavy hands rattle the porcelain doorknob
hurry, they're coming
i'm pressing my fingernails into my skin
i'm screaming into her shadow, into her tangled morning hair
or into an empty white wall against my bed
angry koreans cursing me quiet, from the other side.
I am really enjoying how you weave parts of stories together with these words. Poetry should be able to tell the story of a blink or a yawn - yours does that. Don't ever stop.
ReplyDeletehearts,
melissa