running out the door
before tying my shoes;
replaying graphic images
of unique accidents
I could possibly become victim to
without my familiar
rabbit-eared closure.
feeling the imbalance
of cracks in the sidewalk
from blistering summers—
concrete sediment
crashing into the underside
of my left shoe.
frantically seeking
a fresh pinecone
to balance my right foot.
hearing my abuela yelling,
se van a ir sin ti,
even though I know
the bus driver waits
every time.
cringing as I climb
the rigid staircase,
where there’s a handrail
but only on my left side.
squirming to escape
my early morning ride,
to run around and finish the job,
knowing one extra step
wouldn’t help.
if they’d let me,
I’d stomp around
however long my heels need
to feel satiated.
instead, curling my toes
in their leather abode,
cringing and waiting
for the next obsession
to shadow this one.
