I’m shifting,
a coiled wire of writhing,
stretched like a slinky from edge to edge, waiting for you to walk through me
But you never do
You unhook me from each edge, recoil me
return me to my natural shape
and rest me on the countertop.

You don’t dump me in a box of odds and ends
or shove me in a drawer
You don’t coil me as tightly as I can go and try to thrust me back into the box
I came in

You set me next to the window, the light shines onto my pliable
The air slinks through my slats
I can feel you smiling from here.

I want this shift to change me, the nuance of nestled between understanding
and understatement
I want the change to shift me, from old to new
from carotid to cauterized
from matter to energy
to substance.


2 thoughts on “Coiled

Talk at me while I eat

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