this world flips me upside down,
shakes my ankles with rough hands.
instead of loose change,
I’m full of antique pearl buttons,
red thread, and ticket stubs
for movies I haven’t seen.
I smooth my skirt against my thighs,
right-side-up and red-faced
and want to drift back, slowly,
to the white of what’s left,
the white where it began.
at night, I crawl into bed,
closing the space around me
with blankets-- like petals in reverse.
sometimes all the people are just too much,
a quilt slipping over me
when it’s already too hot to sleep.