used out
left hand shaking over the paper
a dripping oh-so-native
to this feeling.

the window is open and the cool night breeze
touches my back as if to say
"i know"
and I glance towards those prescriptions

they sit unassuming
pretty little propped up bottles
traffic-cone orange soldiers
with little white hats.

and the wind says again to me
"i know" and I scowl
because how can she?
how can she know who I am?

the wind whispers late at night
to children like me
children who have lost their way
and play with little orange soldiers.

used out
one hand palm open to the text
the other shivering against the wind-

and a dripping oh-so-native
to this feeling.