She twirls on the grass with arms out,
a human helicopter waiting to take flight
in a dress the color of latent spring,
feet bare and lost in the long blades.
Her toothless grin pulls open the clouded sky
as she tumbles to the ground, dizzy and laughing
like a child should, despite burdens
too big for her narrow shoulders.
She lies there in misted, summer rain
with apple cheeks and unfiltered giggles
rising up to where the rockets would be,
if the night would only show her face.
We get caught smiling at one another
watching her coil the long, plastic snake
into the antiquated birdbath standing
crooked beneath your living room window.
Her fingers run over the edges of its Italian design,
crevices inhabited with algae and rainwater,
trying to grasp the tail without making ripples,
trying to catch one of us off guard.
I gasp when she snaps the snake, sprays us with water.
Her smile is a devilish infection as she looks for your approval
and you laugh like you didn’t remember joy existed—
head back, eyes closed
laughing.
Aleathia Drehmer 2008
Published by Rusty Truck Zine 1/09
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