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 Oct 2014 Anastasia Webb
Autumn
I stuck chickens in my baggy tie dye shirt
nuzzled on the couch, coffee in hand.
I enjoyed a deep conversation with a willow tree
and asked how it felt about the other species.
I slid cookies in the back pocket of my tattered jeans
before biking through the morning air.
I smiled at old Ted in the nursing home
with a wink, he smiled back.
I dribbled the basketball with the strong scent
of campfire coming from my backyard.
I danced in the shower
the warm droplets falling on my skin.
I smoked in the sparkling cove
with strangers that became my friends.
I flew off the high rocks
and submerged into cold crystal waters.
I looked into those faded blue eyes,
and chuckled cause' we do that.
I balanced on the fallen limb
and hopped up onto the beautiful stump.
I giggled with my sisters
cause' we made some really mean jokes.
I ate spaghetti with my friends,
and laughed so hard we choked.
I tumbled over tree roots
got back up and kept on trailin'.
I thanked God for this life
and he said you're welcome.
some things I like in random orders
 Oct 2014 Anastasia Webb
oui
"just give me ten more minutes"
you slide your hand on snooze;
you live in black and white
and see just what you choose

then mute life's little whispers
close blinds from whats to come
radiating dreams of color
then wake to siri's drum

"just give me five more minutes"
you hit your phone once more
the neon overtakes your brain
your conscience hits the floor
 Oct 2014 Anastasia Webb
brooke
my dad
leans down
to hug me and
says you've been
gone for a few days,
I missed you
and
maybe he means
I have been gone
but maybe he
means that
I have been



g    o n  e
(c) Brooke Otto 2014
 Oct 2014 Anastasia Webb
brooke
i put traffic
cones around
my body, pull
my own rug
out from
                                         under
me,
ten pounds
like an anvil
on a string,
153.43
(c) Brooke Otto 2014

scales.
 Oct 2014 Anastasia Webb
brooke
tell me about the last
time he ate raspberries
off your fingertips, the
last time he stuck his
hands beneath your
bra just to keep warm
the last time he made
you apple cider in the
**** summer heat,
but it's fall and you
miss his sweat, his
bad breath, his
distaste for
sweet things
that you a l w a y s
forgot, and the kiwi
body wash that sat in
his shower, you've been
saying Jesus Christ lately
and you want to stop, but then
again, you still want to be the kind
of girl he might come back to.
(c) Brooke Otto 2014
 Oct 2014 Anastasia Webb
brooke
oh but we are all
divine in that we
have souls, the
way that fills
my mouth
is stupendous
they say that
your fingertips
can feel nano-scale
wrinkles on a smooth
surface, a new level of
sensitivity not previously
recorded
and I think that is



beautiful.
(c) Brooke Otto 2014


written to Floods by Sir Sly.
 Oct 2014 Anastasia Webb
brooke
see,

when I listen
to the smiths I
see you instead
of Morrissey and
you are all golden
apple glow with a
crisp blue profile
a stark outline
against the
saturated
red fade
the mic
cupped in
between those
grand fingers
like a steel face.
how silly to
know you
never sang.
(c) Brooke Otto 2014

'Oh, do you love me like you used to?'
 Oct 2014 Anastasia Webb
brooke
i have forgotten
that i am all sharp
edges with blunt
letters, that these
arrows are shot
with arcs but
s
t
i
c
k
in the ground,
sometimes I fancy
myself honey but
I am all vinegar
all salt, no soothe.
(c) Brooke Otto 2014
 Oct 2014 Anastasia Webb
brooke
it's been eight months.

I pulled the clouds straight
out of the sky with that one,
brought my fist down on your
sternum, with my face buried
into your ribs, a shirt draped
over your face. For the first
time you sounded mad, your
voice was a thick alarm,

I ask you why it took so
**** long and your guitar
falls to the side of where you
never play for me like this
again and you say you're
sorry. And those clouds
that I tied down have
finally wrung off,
and I tell everyone
that I still love you.
(c) Brooke Otto 2014

It's almost his birthday.
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