Up is like down
when I lie on my back:
hang my head off the bed,
stretch my legs up as high
as they’ll reach on the cool wall.
Hear my mom warn that the moisture
from my toes will tarnish the paint.
Do it anyway. Let my arms dangle down
till the skin stretches taut and tight.
How does it look, World,
to see me stretched? Do your brows
crease in confusion? Why does a child
do child things
like hour-glass blood? I let it all
trickle down to pool red on my skin
and then quickly, flip up! Spring daisy
to let it all return from top of head
to tips of toes. Wiggle them on the carpet
until the joy of feeling comes home.
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