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.
As you rip calendars
With your teeth,
Summer to come soon,
This semester won’t take long,
We won’t feel tomorrow.
The way your earrings dance
When you cock your head
Says cheerful small talk
Is your specialty.
But I hear death’s
Echoing in each drop of
Honey that slides
Down the sides
Of your mouth
To the day planner
You clutch on your desk.