atfiveintheafternoon

he clips your wings and tells you to fly, face flushing to the beat of your feet on the pavement, two steps ahead. the crows laugh.             (sagittarius smiles) his hands strangle your wrist and you are drowning at four foot zero, head under the water of the bus ride home, sinking down in the dark blue plastic of the window seat, anchored by the heavy weight of him, beside you.             (sagittarius blames) he twists at your skin and taunts- short brown hair, ruffled in the breeze from the window; pretty brown eyes, crinkling at the corners of his grin; straight white teeth, exposed like the highway markers back home, holding your

i wind down, surrounded by thoughts and hot air, thick with the ticking of the clock, the hum of the vents, the chirp of the crickets, my sighs. upright in bed, alone with the ache of my spine and the red heat of my hips, i feel the cold white glow of the moon spreading across my back from behind the pines in the yard. the phantom pains seep into my left wrist, a diluted pink of the bright red memory you left. i stand, limp to the kitchen, and lean into the counter to grab a glass. i start the faucet. we are kids again, nine years old. the sun warms my face through the bus window. as we near my stop, i get up to leave. your holy hands con