Andi Leigh Writes

I caught a quiet stink bug In our home today—semi-invisible, Journeying up the white wall as  Pixel stared with deepening curiosity,   Wanting to leap with fire and Touch his nose to it. So before he had The chance to turn the bug into prey, I reached for a small glass jar that Once housed artichokes, a glass jar That I had saved to aid in catching Small home intruders. I captured The little life and I watched it crawl on The other side of the glass, impatient to Be freed. I did let it go—outside In the grass, a scene more suitable For a creature like it. I only hoped It wouldn't be too cold.

My best friend Jordan and I went on a camping trip. It wasn't at one of those campgrounds with facilities and a pool; we were on our own in the woods. Just the two of us. After parking the car at the entrance of the dispersed campground, we grabbed our heavy backpacks with all of our supplies and headed down the trail. At first, things seemed typical. It was a nice day, the sun was out but it wasn't too hot, and the trees gently swayed about. This wasn't our first time camping on our own. We knew what to expect.  Jordan wiped the sweat from her brow. "Should we set up our tents soon?" "Hmm... Maybe we should go a bit further down?" I unfolded the map I had gotten from a friend who was also an avid camper and analyzed it for a moment. "It says there should be a waterfall up ahead on the map." Jordan tightened the straps of her backpack and we kept on walking. Eventually, we began to hike off the trail to find the waterfall that was marked on the...

Fools with hearts Underestimate pain Until they are met with Inconceivable rain. It's easy to chew on Melancholy time Until they are met with Something more kind.

Daylight, in slow-paced motion, Reaches quaintly into my heart, Planting an inkling—I have no need To sweat or writhe over tomorrow, Simple on paper to await with ease.  It does not yet exist and with that,   I have a choice to make;  Remain calm within and soak up The current of the day, or to break Down in my bothered head, hurried into a Tomorrow that does not yet include me. I should remain here, in the slow-paced Daylight and look forward to  Centered nightfall.

I'm reclaiming my time today, Ready to jump off clock hands, yet Quailing new freedom and reigning New direction—priority list-making; A stack of seedlings, young to Fog worth cutting through. Mossy stepping stones, we meet Again.   

He tires with certainty, Locks himself away. Turns into a ghost, Disappearing for days. A cup that is empty Waits for time to heal all. Surrounded by noise and Feeling so small. A buffer is the night with A new given chance. For him to recover Then rejoin the dance.

Paws like winter Mittens—loving attention, The center of us. A pastel smile, Hungry eyes. Thundering purrs to Announce his love, much Too big to hold in. What a sweet loaf.

Fur so soft, Like butter and silk, Like dripped oil on velvet; Black as shadows in A foggy haze—milky smooth, A melting touch. This cat Has stolen my heart Countless times.

I'm tired of being patient and Letting others drag their boots Over my crooked spine. I smile— Not realizing that They choose to see weakness,  Naivety. I may be a little too kind, Like alcohol on an open wound. Painfully nice. But behind my expression,  My blood boils, waiting to spill, And my lungs fill with words I dare not breathe—for they will cut.  I will not be a doormat onward, I will be selfish,  Lighting fires around me to warn, Letting the boot draggers know That I am not or ever was What they assumed.

Are blueberry skies Over strawberry fields And what flavors rise When they meet? Do the clouds taste A bit sour or do you Suppose they're sweet?

Day like a paper trail; Scattered with smudged Truths—deckle edges dipped In apprehension. No easy way to bind the pages, So let the wind take them home.

Yesterday I opened my laptop and noticed a strange email. There was no subject line and it said it was from someone named Mr. Whitmore. Odd. I didn't know a Mr. Whitmore and I thought nothing of it when I decided to open the email. But I froze when I saw what was written.  Open the closet door. I froze and held my breath when I read those words. What the hell? I turned from my desk and looked behind me at my closet. It was quiet in the room and I could hear the slight bustling from the street outside my apartment building. I shook away my nerves and sent the weird email straight to the trash folder. I spent the next few hours working on music arrangements when a notification popped up on my screen. A new email. I clicked on the notification to check and was taken aback. Another email from Mr. Whitmore. I hesitated before I anxiously clicked the email open. Please let me out. I quickly turned to look at my closet. There didn't seem to be anything out of place. I got up from my d...

The forest pops after snowfall And while I drive, passing by, I notice the vastness of every Branch, of every trunk and stick. Dark and rich bark leaps against The endless white that sleeps.

Singled out speck, Imperfections— Bullied into boxes. Locks placed with Dancing keys then Thrown away. A blemish known, Soiled. All a lie—a truth! Puzzle pieces perfect On their own, no worry, Untethered, and Free!

A busy day. A deer leering, Off to the side Watching cars go by The railroad tracks. I pass but I see, I see its eyes, its wonder. I wonder  What it thinks. Does it cross the road? There's nothing for it beyond the asphalt.   Did it return to the woods? I'll never know.

Today I was given a cold— A terrible gift.  So I plummeted, Stayed put, giving my weary self A nibble of rest.  Another opportunity To surrender to Sloth.  I'm always Gifted colds—again, a terrible gift, And Sloth, an easy friend to love.

Seltzer tears Bubble Down, Burning eyelids Shut. Fizziness stings Like bandages Ripped From healing Wounds. Quiet popping Reels in silence. Time Is slow.

I love to look at notebooks, And I try to never buy. Since I'm afraid I'll ruin them, They'd stay on shelves to die. The paper will turn brittle, The covers soon will tear. I guess either way, if used or not, They end in disrepair. So maybe I should scribble, Rip out pages, and revise. Though I'll buy them sparingly, Or make my own to try.

This morning we had a red sky, With silhouetted architecture Splashed up, reaching to meet The brightness of dawn. A sign of warmth hit the earth On this painfully chilly day. My Spine ached from the cold, curling Downward stiff instead of caring for Proper posture like those silhouetted Buildings attempting to touch The pink clouds. I wonder If I can stretch tall and find comfort In red sky mornings. 

There are chrysanthemums On the concrete stoop outside, A gift I love—I miss the Yellow flowers like little suns,  Which have been extinguished. Leaves are dried from summer, Frostbitten by pale snow, But there are still spots of green Close to the hard soil, protected by Brittle stems that have fully lived. I don't think of its death when I see the remaining deep green. It doesn't care about the cold. And soon when the ground softens And the leaves are full, The little suns will return.

Wake like a Rose of Jericho, Bringing fortune to your lips. Swinging life forth, green And delicate, to a desolate day.

I didn't stray today. Instead, I stood tall like a stalk of wheat, Golden and blooming with  Potential. Not a day down  Stormdrains, lacking shine. And days lead to now were  Quenched with needed rain.  Tears shed, mixed storms, But the sun fed me in the end. One stalk becomes a field. Harvest satiates the soul.

Do you see time as the enemy, Ready to breach barriers between Yourself and what you deem perfection? With time, courage is born from the wolves You killed, wearing their pelts, heavy On your back, a scar worth carrying. With time, fear may dwindle when courage Is devoured into pulsing flame, igniting The heart beneath the ribcage. Or maybe with time, the courage remains Weak, because those pelts you carry Collect the dust that blackens your lungs. You cannot breathe. Maybe time can be the enemy, but Befriending may be a chore worth  Checking off. A way to throw the pelts From sore shoulders, leaping with Courage, able to expand.

There was something about the dreamer. Paint in her hair, no care, The world vast and empty but she fills Voids with pastel static, words drip From matte lipstick. Panic  Never takes air from her lungs, She knows she belongs. A firefly in A pillowed fog, not smog, but subtle With tea latte sweetness, kept warm on The mosaic countertop filled with Broken glass, no longer shattered, together, Making beauty out of severed past. She will last through creation, motion Lunging to brightened staircases. She faces dilemmas by the dozen, And will never be forgotten.

I'm a marker Running out of ink. I'm a jar half empty. I'm a steel pot Boiling over, losing Water plenty. I am what the voice Will say, what it tends To judge. Burn down life-long Narrative. Often troublesome  To budge. So while the voice Of haunted past will Speak its ugly mind, I pick through reminders Carefully, Noting to be kind.

Once I was walking my dog at night down the street and a stranger was following us. Heidi would look back and growl at the person. All I wanted to do was to keep on moving and get home but this person never diverged. It was like they were glued to my back. Heidi would growl and then whimper; her tail drooped. The stranger's footsteps began to match mine. Why would they do that? They knew that I knew they were behind me. My dog made it obvious. I realized I didn't want to lead this person to where I lived. I lived alone. This was bad. I got a quick glance at the person behind me but I couldn't see their face. I swung my eyes forward and began to pace faster. I looked back again and stared. I couldn't make out any features as I attempted to squint them into existence. And even though I was looking at the person while I walked, they kept on walking the same.  The stranger was unconcerned that I was looking back at them and knew that they were there. I quickly realized that...

Who decided that today Would be unbearably frigid? Why does the air strike my cheek And wish to turn my skin blue? The sun was out today but I Could not feel its persisting breath. I shook in my coat, the wind Peeling through. Teeth chattering, Nose ready to drip. I miss The hotness on the pavement, The light blaring, like cicadas  Through young tree leaves. The blue sky I fall into Seems far and fragmented When it's so unbearably frigid Beyond any present front door. 

A deer hears spring song— Velvet antlers draped in moss. Lake water drinks the rain, Drizzling to dew. She looks to the lilypads. Home upon the rippled mirror. Tadpoles rush their lives. A happy lushness of fungi Eats away at death. Nests are packed with  Cattail cotton. There's more work to be done.

Calmness held my hand. Stress strayed behind, Thankfully not skipping ahead, Reminding me to overthink. I'm able to breathe, Feeling grounded without Much itching. No tornadoes. No movement hurried to An imaginary finish line. Can calmness stay until I can walk on my own?

A stack of dusty books  Lay slumped on a shelf.   Today I remembered— I've been meaning to read those. A collection  On the back burner. While some swamped days  Feel like I Have little time,  Maybe tonight  I will turn through pages,  A possible evening To visualize,  Like a movie just for me.  I simply need to pick one And go beyond the cover. 

Moving through the day, After hours, tie-dye sky, I open my eyes to a Blackened window— Stretch to awaken the pain Of consciousness. Glasses on the tip of My nose, light drifts in From the other room. Urge to lull, Fade back to a puddle. Clock hands ticking To meet sunrise.

Heavy heart On chain-link fence. No pass to the other side. A secret way in Through the gaps. Still no peace of mind. I wonder what the truth Will be. What stories will I bear? Heavy heart On chain-link fence. I stop myself to stare.

Even with a purple sky The light toasts the air. Honeyed golden hour. The ground churns alive, Sparrows are pecking For morsels unearthed. Telephone wires crinkle With electricity. Stillness on sidewalks. Sun setting soon— I will breathe the buzzing.

I want to better myself, Relearn what caused my pain, Take back my sorrow, And watch it enrich my days. There's planning to be done, New life to behold, A dream, never-ending, A nightmare, truth be told. But I'll embrace the magic, I can fight for what I'm worth— They told me it's not much, At least I'm down-to-earth. Much better than the few, Who put others down at bay. Instead of building up, They have nothing good to say. I want to burn the thoughts, Singe that talk from little me. I'll push down lifelong barriers And set my new self free.

If the snow adds noise To the barren trees, Why is this scene so quiet? Picturesque, Like a silk tablecloth draped, Dusty forests, silent, No movement to be seen. No wild tracks over flat blankets. Cold metal fences trimmed With white. Salted roads. Silent morning, quiet buzzing. Sound soaked up.

We didn't leave the house once Since the snow piled up for hours. The cold did wait, Greeting us with a powdery scene; Bare branches dusted, making The trees seem full again. Quiet still. Cars buried, places closed, Nowhere to go. Fireplaces stoked, I know, I wish I could smell the embers. Our energized cats, Miloh and Pixel, perch in the window Watching the muted snow transform The view they know familiar. I hope the cat with the fluffy tail Is safe inside with its owner. Maybe now knowing why the sun Has been asleep, Leading to this painted day.

The blanket of gray above Makes for a sleepy day. While indoors we hide From clingy wind chill. The heater runs,  Meeting cold by the door,  Turning it away.  Not even a draft Can sneak in to join. I am content without Its company. Maybe tomorrow It'll be harsher, stubborn, Stationed outside Our firmly locked window.

Sometimes it takes a bad thing To realize I'm worthy of light As winter flowers are. It's not always malignant flames, Watching for its turn to swallow. With daunting change, there's opportunity To stir through blizzards and emerge Unrecognized. The upcoming storms won't subside And neither will my passage—no. A weekend of snowfall, A lifetime of alteration; Slush feeding those winter flowers.   Signs poking out from frigid distraction Invite me to see through the icy flakes. I'm worth much more. Sometimes it takes a bad thing.

An idler. That's what I was As I reflected, drawn Within my home. Holidays return to boxes, Dozy twinkling lights, And the countdown to The new year, Three, two, one— Ready to rest. Overstimulation, Calm; hibernating Until the season reawakens— Food to prepare, food to eat, People to visit, work to be done. Mandatory spirit. Is it sad to say the spirit feels Nonexistent? Where has it gone? But anyway, I rested today, Finally resetting. Finally, quiet.

Today the sun slept, Enveloped in clouds. No warmth from above today. A cat with a fluffy tail Sat underneath a twisting tree, Looking upward— Perhaps wondering where The sky fire was. Maybe it wondered if the clouds Tasted as they looked.  Milky. It seemed curious, as it rested Under the leafless branches. Its fur, colored and swirled  Like chocolate and peanut butter. I wish the cat looked my way. It seemed too busy looking For the missing sun. 

I rearranged our home today. Although it's not a house But a small apartment, It's still home as we'd hoped for. Over a year under our names, It feels made for us every day— Couch pulled from the wall, Condensing the livingroom Into a cozier space, a dining nook Waits in the future, waits for funds. There are bills and coins in a glass jar. The kitchen sink carries dishes That need scrubbing. It's not too bad. Part of dinner has been made. The floors swept again. And again. Our little home, rearranged.

My heart rate slows In the heat of the shower water. My stress washes away In a flurry of scorching droplets. I am alone in my world with Red-splotched skin. I look, there's dirt Under my fingernails. But how? I don't have a garden— Something that I'd like to change. I am clean after another day,  Smelling of peach and almond. Clear of thought-plaguing scenes That have melted down the drain With the stench of worry. I am vulnerable to tomorrow. My heart rate beams skyward.