We draw ourselves into circles,
spiraling onto blacktop
with thick pastel chalk.
The fine colored dust coats our
fingers and slips into
the cracks of a fingerprint
as if to say;
this is who I am,
this is how you will
remember me.
Later, when eyelids flutter shut and
we’re camped out in the circles we’ve
drawn for ourselves, I lay flat on my
back to look
at the sky.
If I look hard enough,
the stars connect like
the smudged chalk in my
fingerprints.
spiraling onto blacktop
with thick pastel chalk.
The fine colored dust coats our
fingers and slips into
the cracks of a fingerprint
as if to say;
this is who I am,
this is how you will
remember me.
Later, when eyelids flutter shut and
we’re camped out in the circles we’ve
drawn for ourselves, I lay flat on my
back to look
at the sky.
If I look hard enough,
the stars connect like
the smudged chalk in my
fingerprints.
