We are born polka-dots
Light pink spots for toes and cheeks.
Weeks of cribs and dangling shapes
Leave us spinning like pinwheels,
We feel breeze and bugs crawling,
Sunshine and hugs, and sprawling out,
We spread our colors around
Giggle sounds, as beach balls,
Tapped by older, happy hands, we float
Down to a perch among the shrubs,
Our shiny surface rubbed by flowers as we sit as garden globes
Until we grow continents and oceans
And are set in motion like the earth itself
In a room inside until our spinning charade
Squeezes and fades us into a single pushpin,
A marker on the map that used to be our sphere,
But plastic, seared and deflated,
We can resume our place.
All the paintings in his house
Were of the walls themselves.
With each framed
His own brush painted
Dust and cracks
Between the shelves.
He held perfection,
Crushed, then glued
It back together,
And hoped that she
Was doing the same.
The first test of endurance
For a quickly swelling tongue.
Harder questions then are flung
The back of the throat,
They slide down
To the stomach where
Butterflies should flutter,
But instead a swarm of wasps
Sting each phrase,
Just to keep
Their veiny wings