Catapult through hills locking on air. So much of it the lungs won’t take it in. Then all’s a pinwheel, I’m the pin. The girl on her back having a tantrum on the drugstore floor until her mother stands up and leaves. The ladybug’s gunmetal legs pedaling machinely until they still and fold. The body is an envelope. The air black diamonds and helium I’m far too far to grieve.
Copyright © 2018 by Melissa Stein. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on July 27, 2018, by the Academy of American Poets.
About this Poem
“Sometimes we just can't pick ourselves up.”
Melissa Stein is the author of Terrible Blooms (Copper Canyon Press, 2018).
Date Published: 2018-07-27
Source URL: https://poets.org/poem/figure-ground