Photo by Jacki Drexler on Unsplash
I watched her body
Thinner than spider silk
Knock on a paint peeled door
And enter a house with wired windows
I boiled in a sun striked Camry
Parked within a chain link neighborhood
Where weeds sprouted through potholed streets
And collarless chihuahuas foraged for food to eat
Shattered step smokers slanted
Their heads upon noticing my ivory
This nose pleasing, lung diseasing, scent
Reminded me of mom’s lingering peace sign fingers
I gripped ripping roof handles
Unzipping a myriad of manufactured mishaps
I pictured mom’s pharmaceutical shaman curling
Her index and turning Mom into a scarlet afghan
Then I envisioned her waving heat
Vaulting over a square, ear rattling, gate
Staring me down with her metallic third eye
And before I could blink she decided to wink
Removed from reality
When mom slammed her door
For a split second I truly thought
My teenage twilight concluded with gunshots
“Told ya I’d be right back.”
Carson Sandell is a gay twenty-year old poet from the Bay Area. He's currently enrolled at Mission College as an English Major with plans of becoming a Creative Writing Professor.
