to reach my ears and stroke my hair

then my bed was a cloud, in afternoons to hear

fumbled notes of Shandra’s fingers

searching our keys for songs.

home from school, the outside world finally gone

divine art was dressing up in our familiar

to reach my ears and stroke my hair.

and now I have this bench on Autumn’s day and I sit

in the shade by the pond, piano in my ears,

and it is longing and it is longing, and I am crying and there is a crow.

and there is the sound of strangers’ feet on gravel,

and I am miles and I am years away.

and there are so many crows.

and there is a longing for the backyards, the creaking old trampolines are clothed in blankets.

and for broken arms and lady bugs and curse words and for bee stings.

the smell of baking soda and the corn starch. just a touch of water.

please I miss it. please, please sting me.

please make me yours, your potion mother

and rub it gently on my skin.

please, you are all so far away,

and there are sirens.