Dry grass taller than me, color of my naked skin,
waves in the wind,
slices like razors on my limbs
scarred from climbing the camphor trees
trembling, lying helpless
on a bed of dirt and mud,
briars peppering my ankles
sting, leaving tiny drops of blood
like no see ums
grass like bars of a cell
pinned down like a fish being scaled
I recall the Hotwheels
I had the Ford
you had the Porsche
little metal shapes flipping and crashing
Grass, still, drowns out my little voice.
Amanda J. Forrester received her MFA from the University of Tampa. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Azahares Spanish Language Literary Magazine, Pink Panther Magazine, Collective Unrest, Trailer Park Quarterly, and other anthologies and journals. Follow her @ajforrester75
Reblogged this on Sudden Denouement Collective.
LikeLike