by Marisa Siegel

thirty seconds I forget my body and my eyes open and close and I’m moving my hand is clenched and hitting the rail I’m thirteen I’m sixteen nineteen twenty two almost twenty nine and I don’t even pay attention.

A song I’ve known longer than

I never even considered: What got erased; what didn’t. My eyes open and close. Define the perimeter.

(I wrote all of that yesterday in the sun on my iPhone. Probably.)

Today I’m rasp and burnt-red and summer is a morning thunderstorm/