In this one, my leg
snaps off and hovers
before me,
an impatient luna moth,
trying to guide me
anywhere else.
The break was painless. I'm
more concerned
with a triplet of Qs
needing As:
How can I follow you? Hop?
Where are my stockings,
the ones
I get lucky in?
When did you trade climbing
for being climbed?
A triplet? I lied.
When did I stop
stopping them? When
did what's between us morph
into a bait tin
full of wriggling fingers?
When
did I stop covering scratches
with Band-Aids
and start with the salt?
And leg, as you hover,
like some phantom chihuahua,
when did I first cut you off?
