the blue bow, color of the sky,
color of our tears
she puts it in my hair and fixes it when it falls out
silky like her skin, sweet
perfect and fluttering freely in the breeze

my dreams twist the blue bow into something important—

and they twist her into a killer stuck in a concrete box
head pushed back, knees scraping against the opposite wall
blue bow attached loosely to her hair
she’s a psychic in a town of psychics looking at me funny

i’m wearing the blue bow when i tell her i am
totally, completely in love with her

the blue bow, color of someone’s eyes (not mine),
color of the beads on her bracelet
she takes it back at the end of the day,
small and almost insignificant action
like the way she looks at me

her hands stroking my hair, she’s telling me i’m beautiful
and the blue bow sits there patiently