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Race
Race.
You know how sometimes
the simplest of things float in,
turning out to be the most sacred in the grand scheme of our lives?
We’re only a second away at any given moment
from fleeing our neighborhoods- you’ll take my hand, now
suddenly warm- tightly knit between your fingers-
and then we’ll fly
(something I had only dreamt of at ages seven to twelve) above
all your neighbors’ dogs, barking at something the animalistic
sphere can’t define.
Over the many roads and sidewalks we had observed and taken note of,
but not from here. Above my parents’ home, nosy adults who feel they
can brace all your limbs- not prepared for the fall.
I feel us flying faster than any rollercoaster I’ve ever been on,
I feel my teeth chatter from the
exposure,
but I feel your eyes notice the arch of my brows, they move
with my lips as they escape- and I feel as bright as the static
surrounding us.
