WEDNESDAY: Wist

BY MEGHAN FERARRI

Copyright is held by the author.

Let’s pretend, you’d breathe,
tootsie tongue, missing tooth.
Down the drive where oil slithered onto Xs,
and wriggled around Os.

Red knees like liquorice,
race to the ravine.
And tangled, tumble
down the path of tawny leaves;

A yellow brick road,
untended.

At the foot of the gray birch it’s found.
A right of passage, left wing asunder.
An elongated pause…moist with indecision.
A seedbed of morality.

In the murky moonshine,
Infinite fingers ferry it home.
To the house awash in honey.
To the ivory hands that will heal.

And one day,
pluck your wings bare.