It’s all beginnings and endings and sparkle and shadows around here.
Caitie Leibman
What do you do with the short straw?
Painted walls, a humid summer, and then a fridge floats by.
In the sour mess, we are in touch with it.
Dirty nailbeds and playing outside.
I don’t know what our home must look like from other people’s basement windows.
The clock sprung forward and out of my hands.
Space, not time, pulls a trick on me.
Because I want to get my hands moving this Sunday morning.
There’s something of style and the soul caught up here.
After many minutes I couldn’t grab onto the sound inside the music.
Caitie Leibman (she/her) 