Poetry

I (my whole body) am stepping out from behind cracked glasses and welcoming the big box of wheels rolling over the road

And when I walked by / the chicken coop, reader, / the chickens walked me home. / One got loose with her three chicks

And you love the sound / a fresh pad makes when you peel / off the wax paper, unwrap it / like a birthday present, the one / you asked for.

I thought I was born blue / the way my hands looked / pressed against the inside / of a blue-glass jar.