Andi Leigh Writes

There was a raven perched  Under the moon— Tilting its head curiously  At the lunar light;   Shining like a new metallic button—signaling To the raven that it wanted to be plucked   From loneliness And introduced to other curios the raven Had rescued over the years.   The bird spread its wings— Telling the button in the sky that it would be there, Ready to unfasten what had been secured For long enough.   The moon was now the raven's And the raven's collection had gained  a luminary prize. 

I am a visitor within myself. Am I even real? Do I know what My skin really feels like? What It's like to stare into my own eyes— Are they even mine? Or a loan That I will give back one day And the earth will gladly place Them with the other returns. Will our dust mix in the soil with The worms? Will we learn from Each other then, when we have Infinity to understand one another Because there's nothing left to do. A body is a shield that rips apart And mixes with the hourglass sand; Pouring into the bottom we may be Trapped in—or will we escape, And become one with the stars that Live and die too?  Will we have a chance to come back,  To experience the battered sorrow Of existence once more—seeing if we Can know love and get to find who We are?  Will I feel whole within my Skin the next time around before It's too late again? Maybe I can feel that now.

We're on a drive going nowhere, Trees are passing by—we See small waterfalls pouring From the mountains, Filling the cracks in jagged rocks And glistening like diamonds. The wind cackles and shakes Our car—we feel the jitters. Although that may have been Our iced coffees.   The music blasts and we talk About everything, anything— It's what we do, Until we decide to go home When we've had enough of the Aimless drive on ample roads.

Trapped in a birdhouse With one way in and one Way out. Destined to return and Make it home. Unpainted wood walls, The smell of sawdust. Twigs and dead leaves Line the bottom but Will it be warm enough? Nails rusting as the roof Splits—swollen cedar; Mold moves in, fallen Feathers join the nest.

There was a robin on the road Watching me with its black pearl eyes, And I watched it right back  From my stuffy car—parked on a side Street while the bird flaunted its Pattern and hopped freely On the pavement. The robin saw me through the window And tilted its head. It flew away in an Instant—leaving me, flightless And bound to the road  Easily escapable by the quick robin. 

I can feel the warmth of wonder. The surreal, painted mountains Capped with melting snow, hovers Over us—so small. We are more Than dust but to the rocky peaks We are microscopic. They watch Through the foggy air that drapes Us in spring allergies—I know those Are coming for me but I still hold The wonder for the cliffside wave.

Are we at the bottom Waiting for the lid to pop— Are we feeling fuzzy and The emptiness won't stop— Are we slowly drowning In a boring embrace— There is something to be Said about this headspace.

A drop of kindness, Torn window blinds— A warming core, In my right mind. A life sufficient, The scent of pine— So full of sounds, This home of mine.

A burning throat needs lemon And the soup needs plenty thyme. I would like to walk outdoors but I guess I'm stuck inside. Many mugs of tea and counting, Glass of water, clementines— The weekend and this Monday Have me ill and undermined.

Indigo existence beyond Our reach, Starless in the early hours, I see you  But am I seen? I witness The dark hue turn soft while I remain sleepless. Will I melt soft From the dark hues that loom? That deep and starless  Indigo—I think it sees me too.

"I can't believe I lost it." Kiran gawked with melancholy eyes at the algae-covered pond that sat hidden behind his late uncle's house. The sun swam down, causing beads of sweat to roll down Kiran's forehead. The sweat swept into his eyes as he frantically tried to wipe them away. The murky pond mocked him with a gentle ripple and the sunlight speckled over the green surface, making the sickly water appear almost magical. "Are you gonna try to find it?" his little sister Madeline asked. "In this disgusting pond?" Kiran scoffed as he motioned his hand to the water. "I'll never find it in there. It's probably buried under old mud and sludge by now." "Maybe a fish ate it," Madeline said. "I don't think anything is alive in there, Maddie." "Dad is gonna be mad," she snickered. Kiran dropped his head in his hands and groaned, "Please shut up, Maddie!" Madeline skipped in front of her olde...

Rainy spring Saturday— Soup pot boils on the stove, Home cleaned, and we're At rest after getting laundry Done that we'll never fold. Dishes are housed in Their cupboard and The rain soaks the outside. Raincoats dripping; tossed On the shoe rack. No sun out to smile but I Feel content inside.

You are loose puzzle pieces And I'm the picture printed. You call for completion, a Sturdy foundation, and I want To see the bigger picture. Together we can be more Than what we seem, Making perfect sense when Shapes and colors work as one.

I am far from myself, Usually around the same Time each evening, Needing to find my floating Pieces, hoping to stick  Them back together.  It can take a Few hours to catch myself, Then I feel More parts slipping away While my optimism melts All over the floor—now Regretful— And finally, I have to Make sure that I can break The pieces leftover  Away from the vinyl.

I may not be enough Without a piece of paper. I may not be whole— According to some. I may not be all that I Can be, But why does it matter To those who do not Know me? I am myself without A piece of parchment. I am more than what Can be destroyed With an ounce of water. I am intelligent regardless, Though they may not Believe me, I show that I do not care.

Traffic light strung up Against a plastic sky— Artificial blue—real but Not for me, I don't get to enjoy it. Several hours tucked away Inside, taunting windows Mock—I want to stare up At that blue; I know it's real And I count the time Until I can stand under it. The traffic light signals me To go home after it waved My morning goodbye. The afternoon and evening Need to feel real, but Sometimes I feel as Manufactured as the traffic Light swaying against the Limited sky.

Are we as dried flowers are? Colors preserved—yet dull, Stems upright looking strong, But brittle with a snap waiting. Given as gifts when vibrant Then tucked away and left to Deteriorate between forgotten Pages of a book that will not Be finished. I'd rather be left With roots in the ground—able To remain colorful, turn to dirt, And pop up again—brighter.

The past sits on my doorstep And cheery memories knock With prestige on the windowpane Once clouded over— Isolation may not be the remedy To drag on for years without Thought of future harm. I can see through the windowpane And spring is waiting for me To open the door—happiness Has been patiently waiting. I'd like to think I can step outside And face the past without it Sending me back inside, fearful. I can live again without isolation; I want to at least try.

Bookbinding and playing Cozy video games Occupied my hands today; Occupied my mind. Busy at work stitching paper Together— Playing in a virtual life chopping Down trees—building a farm. We had the front door open today to air out the winter from our home. I'll read a book soon And I'll check it off my list of Things I got done this Saturday.

We had a cool morning With the window open And the smell of rain Outside. The slowly waking sun Peeked into our bedroom While we stayed under The covers. Too toasty to move, too Cool in the room to want To leave—we were having a Comfortable dawn but We knew it would end within Mere minutes since work Was creeping to fill our time. I know we both wished To pause in that lovely and Comfortable dawn.

A moment may be lost  To the lens but has a home Within the mind; passed to Others who may laugh or cry, And the moment will live on Through the tales it rides.

Chip away at the anxieties And you may be left holding some Confidence—some shape of Self-care that doesn't smell of Bitterness multiplying For years. There's never a time Where you stop flourishing and if You think you met a stone wall,  It isn't true. You are capable of chipping away at The wax poured on you—it's slowing  You down, and then you can  Reveal a new flame. So when you accept yourself and Realize that your changes never End, you can begin to smile.

Will any of us remember today Five years from now?  I worked all day and then visited  The post office.  The sun was out and I went for a walk.  Was the sun out for others?  I thought about how  My reality seems distant.  Maybe I'm still  Not used to all of the new things. For lunch, I had a protein shake and  A mandarin orange.  That was all and it was okay.  Will any of us remember today  Ten years from now?  Does anyone remember All of the little things we do?  I still have an intense cough— The most memorable part of my day.  I don't think I drank enough water. 

A puddle has opened and Swallowed me whole. No one in the world has Noticed but I have—under The surface, solid like glass, And I choke to breathe— No matter, all I need  Is a blade of grass to cut   Through the ceiling that's  Keeping me down. Once free I can dry my clothes and Make the day one without Any more puddles.

I can't wait to get over being sick. I want to breathe, I want this cough To disappear down the sink. I don't Want the pain in my ribs anymore. I don't want to taste the Cough medicine or entertain this Runny nose. It was much worse a Few days ago, with chills and aches Gnawing through my legs while hellfire Escaped from my crown. Sleep was all I could do and it's still all I want. I just Keep reminding myself it'll go away soon. It'll go away soon. Soon.

There's an ocean in you That I love being lost in. Don't try to pull me from it, I'll just drown myself to stay. There's an ocean in me That I must learn to love, Feeling lonely there makes Me crave your ocean for days. There's an ocean in you That I want to be part of. There's an ocean in me That I wish to escape. You've shown me how to bring our oceans together. To love yours and mine is Enough to wake.

I look up at the black sky And think about where we are. Feeling the rotation pull us Into the future, where there may Be no stars—I am dizzy, but You hold my hand to make sure I never drift too far. Maybe, Up there in the eternal, Is a reflection of what used to Stray and drift, and maybe it Also holds what is meant to be.

I am like rain on glass; Rolling down, wanting to Pool with those around Me to share stories, but  Mostly I'm fearful And I tend to disappear, Soaking into the wood Of the windowsill, hoping No other raindrops Will meet me.

I'm too tired to write today, Too sick to think of what To say—head set ablaze In the clouds, painful Aching all around.

Knit socks keep A foggy head still. A sandbag on my chest In my imagination but I feel it sink. Aches think they're Helping—a warning, but I know, be still. Bones Like ice but skin crisping In a campfire. I'm Impatient to be well again.

The present light was gray; Painting my heart sincere Despite the sun—quiet After its glorious yesterday.

A sunlit black cat in My arms; Content and bewildered By the warm sky. Gentle pur, toasty fur, Kneadful paws and alert Ears—a nose ready to smell The outside. Brought back in after but Refusing to leave the Screen door—remaining Illuminated with soft eyes, Loving the warm outside.

There is a split in the ocean. There is a bee in my chest. I wonder when I'll start graying Since I always seem so stressed. There is a meal left out cold. There are no answers to this test. I constantly worry about the future, Wondering what will be next. There is a secret amongst them. There are too many oppressed. I don't think we'll be able to fix it. We all just seem to crave rest.

The week chips away Like a bookend in a dusty Corner—I'll clear away the Dust bunnies and free up Possibility. A life between the covers In the corner by the bookend. With tons more space to clear And empty paper to write in.