Patricia Horn O'Brien

Figure, ground

August 11, 2018


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.

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