Cleo’s leather loafers clack against the tiles as she enters the dimly lit room, grasping a tray of multi-colored pills in organizational containers.

we walk through the grass,
off path, heading towards the road

where streetlights illuminate the trail

The old man sits in the same spot on his couch like always. His glasses fall to the tip of his nose as his frail fingers grasp at the edges of his book,

The little girl sits cross-legged in the grass. Her stubby fingers grasp at the sky towards two fluttering butterflies. They dance together, encircling one another as they quiver through the air.

Her swollen fingers dip into the ocean as the sun is laid to rest along the horizon, sipping up any light left in the sky.

the girls dance

hand in hand, pink frosting

on their lips.

The woman's hand grasps at the metal handle of the pan, making an erratic shifting motion so that all the veggies can brown.

My roots burrow deep into the dirt and soak up the groundwater. My bark is jagged and rough, covering the entire surface of my trunk. My leaves are a blazing orange, with points along its silhouette.

The little boy skips along the shore of the sea, splashing water onto his corduroy trousers with every hop. A shiny shell glints in the sun, grabbing the boy’s attention. He bends down to snatch it, rubbing his chubby finger

The cinders burn black dots on my skin as we watch the men with sparklers run down the street.

A tangled mess of platinum blonde hair can be seen peering through the crowd of neatly dressed children, their chubby faces pressed against the window display,

I am a shoe. The only shoe that the old man owns. He wears me everywhere, and I’m forced to smell the fungus on his feet every day from dawn to evening. I feel the weight of his body as he slams me onto the gum-embedded sidewalk