11/8/18
I am a menace.
Scuttling between paper leaves
and doors. I can't tell
which ones are unlocked.
My clattering legs will
skitter across your countertop,
and I have felt so small.
I have been out of sight
longer than I've been alive
and I knock your dishes
onto the under-grown floor.
The tinkling of porcelain
is my alarm clock.
I bounce off the fine china,
my arms stretched around me,
and I wonder how
you could miss all these pieces.
My hands are too small
to cause such destruction.
But my hands can reach
much further than yours.
So I slide myself between cracks.
I become a line,
another crack,
and I bring you the slivers.
Wedged between the tiles
and glittering from termite holes.
I bring you the glue
and my sickly face blushes
from embarrassment
and apologies.
I am learning what good
my hands can do
as I bandage and kiss
your poor, bloody fingertips.
