pull by the roots

It was Sunday,
 the first hottest day of the week.
 The road was bright the houses squinted with the glare.
His car, my boyfriend's car has no air conditioning--the hot wind blows through and
the sun burned a hole in my head and my thoughts went stumbling out--
the wind scooped them off the highway like they were stragglers thumbing for a ride.

Pulled my grandfather’s sunglasses out of my bag
goldandbrown aviators, one of the only things I have of his
(they are too big for my face, droop over my cheekbones,
I always wanted high cheekbones)

I see through
a narrow view of sepia

you can’t see my eyes can’t know my heart�"
just the bridge of my knows(and no’s and nose) and my fingers pushing up the bridge,
making the ends meet
I wish I could make my ends meet
but they scream and strain and the space never closes.

trying to see with more clarity the
unseeable, this inexplicable world
it’s on the edges of the rims, just out of reach.
like the
Roly polies rolling in the earth,
escaping weeding hands.

Reviews

[SHEEMA HUQ]

A rich obervational write. Enjoyed.