Hot air against dropping petals
As August tucks behind stucco buildings
As moisture winds its way out of cracks in sidewalks
Between desperate weeds and wildflowers
This is the satin of her favorite bra
Softer than clouds
More electric than forks in unattended sockets
As nervous knuckles clench with anticipation
This is the sour grape staining your mother's teeth
Her lips rimmed with finished glass
The smell of dead loves last argument hidden beneath her tongue
This is new bruises that speak quietly and
Eyes cast downward with missing spines
Clasped tightly in the fists of those who left their emotions
On your skin.
Cody Haight was born in Wellesley, Massachusetts. She now resides in Gloucester, Massachusetts. In her free time she enjoys free writing, spending time with her family, and taking walks with her dog, Jake.