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I want to bench press you
above my head
I want to slam you
into a book I don’t understand
pressing, topped by
dictionaries and vases
until you become paper thin

I want to hang onto something
I shouldn’t

I want to dry the stems and leaves
extending from your body,
prickly
I want to detract from the richness of hues
in your head,
bowing
so I can keep you on my mantel
in a glass jar
as a memento,
conquered
of an afternoon game spent
in the outfield
picking wild flowers
while my parents screamed
“Keep your eye on the ball!
It’s coming!”

 


Leah Brundige is a writer, reader, teacher and learner. She has a B.A. in creative writing and is finally exploding onto the poetic scene, after several years of sitting quietly and worldwide traveling/running away. She is the child of two fervent writers, relative to great artists and world travelers and friend to all animals. She has built her ship on English and retired from a life abroad to pursue a life at home, in Salem, Mass., where she belongs.

© 2016, Leah Brundige

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