With the Boy, Outside
Twigs collect by the side of the path. Wild flowers space themselves. Pigeons respond instantly to being chased. The ground rises to the tree. If I look through the boy—to loss, to a future, to else— nothing is enough to hold the ground into one place. This is your foot, I say. But people don’t talk like that. I watch people gather their faces into thoughts I can’t hear. This is the space between us, I say while waving my hands to make the distance.
From The Wug Test (Ecco, 2016). Copyright © 2016 by Jennifer Kronovet. Used with the permission of the author.