Andi Leigh Writes

I held a snake. I gave a spider water And I may have seen it wave; I don't know if it was thanking me. But I knew the snake was curious. Its skin felt cold on mine— But the spider? I couldn't tell If it was thanking or Warning me. At least the snake Could show me its eyes. The spider just waved and waved.

My train of thought Releases waves, It makes me sick, It says I can fly— It speaks my lines And pointy words. It lashes out, Unjustified.

I slept through The hours of night Without stirring— What a rare feat. I know I dreamed But it's lost to the Waking rhythm Of the mute room That welcomed me. Existence settled In my breath While the unknown Woke early Beyond the window, Quicker than I. But I was not Interrupted; I was given time.

There's neon gravel in an aquarium wall And the fish glow like ceiling stars, Not knowing how beautiful they are. All they know is each other But at least their tank has pebbles That echoes the northern lights. And the fish do bring a lively scene To what is essentially their prison Before the next transparent box. So hopefully they're allowed To keep their glow—blissfully unaware That they are like the neon gravel, A decoration Like plastic plants and ceiling stars.

We have a blue bottle On the countertop. It traps the kitchen light Inside— It glistens, Taking what is ordinary From a fluorescent bulb And transmuting it Into a sparkling mystery Entrapped in glass.

I drank too much coffee And the jitters poured out of My fingertips. The keys on my laptop were Clacking away And the fire in my head Burned until the words Tapped out.

I fixed a snag in a woven blanket Instead of losing my mind. Instead of declaring defeat, I used My hands, fists uncurled, and Smoothed out what was Picking on me. It could've gone differently but Patience possessed my hand; Returning the pulled cotton yarn To its comfortable weft.

I woke up early for work but by the time I was out of bed, you had been on shift for hours. I left and you came home some time later But we met in the afternoon and shared our Dozy desire to nap and forget everything for A little while. I woke up with a headache and I Let you sleep on—you needed it but when you did Wake up, we had a chore to run. Which we did— Getting gas for the car. Then we returned home And you made dinner for us. We both know that this was a typical day but we Also know that our magic isn't lost in plain things. It gets stronger and deeply weaves within us Every passing day; in every little simple thing.

I bought a new candle today. It was on sale— Banana toffee scented. The cats were curious Of the twin flames and the burn Of the match that lit the wicks. The kitchen now smells sugary But only slightly so— And the scent becomes More apparent the closer you get To the toasty golden wax. But that could just be me Since I have a stuffy nose Unlike the two cats Who have their sharp noses high.

Coats will soon come out of closets. Sunflowers will stand Like scarecrows in the chilly breeze. Summer's getting tired and pavements Will cool down with puddles Carrying warmly-colored leaves. Apples will be crisp; Nearly ready for picking. Pumpkin patches await the crowd. We can smell it in the air—the cold days Are approaching. It's great when this season comes around.

A day out? A day in? We can never decide. There's a mix of both Sometimes And we love to complain When we're tired. But when we're out Home is what we need. When we're inside We want to break out And speed away. Those mixed days are Everything; Despite being tired when It all wraps up. We also know the sleep After the buzz Will be good for us.

We were out in the city And we saw a woman Dancing—she did not care. She moved with the music From cars going by; Enjoying what others had For themselves— She had no music of her own But she did not care. She still danced uninhibited.

Please step into your head And make it your home. Pour some tea and read The leaves—what do they say? You're surprised to know and Pour yourself another cup.

By the end of the year, I hope to hold a spider Despite my life-long fear. I'll cup it safely in my palm As I reel in my shakes. I'll breathe deep and slow, Hoping I have what it takes.

The ceiling tiles Have a lot to say. They whisper daily About the same old things. They hold our heartbreak And our lackluster ways. They're in our home, It's where they'll remain. But not to worry, They remember the peace, The laughing nights, And the many movies. They keep the rain out; Most of the time. A roof we rent Is on the opposite side. Under them is Our little old home. We clean it up So we won't feel alone. So when we stare up At the ceiling from bed, We can be thankful for The tiles above our heads.

The spiders are weaving, Hanging up their webs, To catch delicious insects That fly above our heads. But the webs Are at the doorway and I Fear that there will be Many eight-legged crawlers Waiting to fall on me.

Pull the chairs around the table And pick up the phone. Even when we are busy We'd rather not be alone. There's time to plan and recharge, We can be tired—hand in hand. If there's no time for quick visits, We'll all meet when we can.

We talk of ability, Space away from On-the-clock lives, And speak sweetly Of baring truth The way we Envisioned before Adulthood. We know that Going back is not On any table, So we make changes To let the truth show; Even through Commonplace falsity.

The clenching of teeth Will soon soothe With the steady pace We've learned to usher Into enriching avenues.

The gears are rusting And I'm not sure Coffee will help with that— Not this late. So maybe I'll pick it up after Waking up And reset my head with a Short routine, But for now I know that I Should count until I dream And ideas will visit me— Manifesting when it's the Right time for coffee And when the gears are tidy.

The sun departs us earlier each evening And the night slithers to replace its rays. Soon the cold will caper around the fires That show tenderness. The bite in the air will encourage layers To be our textile guard; bundling solace Under the knits as we witness our breath Escaping like living mist.

The weight of the day Meets the floor When I get to see you. I am suddenly light— Like a dandelion seed And you are the wind That helps me land.

I can't float in water; All I do is sink into a body That plugs my ears. And that deep unknown, That easily cradles others, Likes to pinch my nose instead— Reminding me Of what I take for granted. I've tried and tried—I don't float! And some may think that I'd Let myself drown but I kick Right through the inconvenience Of my disconnect And from the outside, it may Seem like I am having A remarkable time.

The sturdy weeds Wear raindrop hats, The sky is foggy tea. Why can't we live like Flowers—joyous, watered, And rent-free. We seem to be more like Blades of grass— Too sure to be cut down. And those that try Won't be satisfied since We come right back Around. The roads can be Shallow rivers we adore But they tend to turn Bone-dry. The outlook runs Quite lush under foggy Tea-like skies.

I want to pick up a pen— Maybe collect many And dress them up by my Typewriter that hungers For pages and blotted words. It's tired of its case. I can imagine an inkwell And an eager ribbon Snug in a desk drawer That I do not have. A true writing desk— A little piece of the past In my future.

When your cat Is a paper shredder, The mail is confetti That graces the home And the cat sits proud— Waiting for more material To arrive. The little one knows Just how much you love To clean up the chaos. Decorative—the chaos. At least that's what The cat thinks, So that is how free time Is spent while there are Proper toys strewn about.

We wait for life to slow But hurrying is all We ever do. Let's get this over with— Tragic, When we should count Each breath and tear We shed— It shows that we're alive. We wait for life to slow but It'll only do so when we Allow it to. Let's count each breath Together. Let's stop the rush into Tomorrow; we'll get there Without erasing today.

A daydream is worth a dime. Save them up, break the jar, And watch what you've gathered Pour out into your palms. The collection—insurmountable And aspirations are keen On being spent.

I wait to sleep while You sleep to wake. We'll brush past Each other by Midnight, sharing The tired air With each other Before losing touch. I'll see you In the morning.

Treasures among the filth— We jump in to rescue what Can shine again—with care, With heart, a life reclaimed; Second chances are coveted, Rare in a world that burns Perceived uselessness.

I exalt the prolific stars And they see me; Insignificant in their Illustrious eye— But they are long dead; One day I will be too— Leaving supernovae to Fill voids and inspire.