Andi Leigh Writes

There is heartbreak in a Nail-clipped fiasco. Energies are taken away and the will To ignore the spiral Is bashed against a brick wall— Bloodying knuckles And taking away claws.

Sprouts may reach and sway, Hoping for new sticks to climb Or blades of grass to overshoot— What kind of view will sprouts Wish to see When they are not so small— Towering over mountainsides, Watching the rivers flood— Knowing that even As tall as they are, A strong gust on the wrong day Could make their towers fall‚ but At least they can sprout again And renew forever.

It is getting late But I know I can’t sleep. There is no work tomorrow— Maybe a few places Where we’d need to go But the onslaught I feel In my ribcage Is unwarranted. There is time—we have Slow moments To live through first.

Why are there explosions Within the confines of myself While nothing around me Grants permission for the Insufferable detonation That I will not allow— I am tired of holding up The barricade.

I hunger— With a stomach Impatient, Eyes in need of any Morsel— How much longer Must I wait— I wait, Until the pains Are potent— But after indulging, My stomach Remains insatiable.

In the unforgiving Winter months, My bones are brittle sticks— My skin is dry leafage In the sun. I need the grass to pop up And cheer me on. I am a tree Beaten by the winds. I need my foliage To keep me warm.

The time varies When you're breaking in New boots. Heels may bleed— Blisters may say hello— We think it's worth it Even when our scrunched toes Shriek, But in the end when the work Is done And the boots soften, They'll last for miles.