this city.

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.