you're a little festival of light,
that crackle in vhs tapes that makes you miss home,
a snarky crunch in a brand-new bowl of
cereal and milk.
sometimes I wish the battle scars left over from failed art projects
were enough to send me to the hospital in a panic
so I could sit on a metal table wringing my hands while I called you to calm me down.
maybe you would realize then that you're still very important
in my little world of crackles and
sunbursts.

I walk around each day endlessly reminding my toes to keep up
with the pavement so I don't fall down and stop short
to remember I am not quite the independent lady I aspire to be.
it's human, maybe; I want a warm body to tuck myself around
I don't know what kind of present I even am,
but when you call me talking of mushrooms
I always think that maybe I'm okay.