AvaClaire

*crosses legs*
two chairs facing each other
is my greatest fear,
trying to fix my hair
without seeming petty,
trying to fold my arms
without nervously tieing 
them around my torso.
my fingers are a hot mess of worms

Late afternoons in November
have me noticing
all the things I missed,
the dust growing like grey shadows
on the piano keys,
the dark circles from glasses of lemonade
standing out on the wood
I now trace in the 5:00 darkness,

remember 
those who say to you
that you are the devil
while their white smirk
gleams from red curtains
forget
it takes one to know one
forget 
that one second they were
buying popcorn in striped bags

Summer leaves drop
with guilt
on cold dew grass
always when I am not
watching
my eyelashes seeming to 
shake them off the branches
with each blink 
I wish to starch them flat
with my grandmother's iron

where is my apology
waterbug
you're skimming so close
to something you 
don't want to acknowledge
black water churning underneath
hungrily, waterbug
treading casually
but I've learned that ripples
attract the frogs

I can only wonder
when I drive down 
dirt roads in august
if I have blinked
or if it is just 
telephone pole shadows
flitting over the hood
like camera shutters

and it feels like just about