Coraly Voy

Black brown covers dash about
pink pony tail ties twitching, stray thin blades
curl up. Move on. She's running over gym equipment, and
all there is, is hair ties, is tiny clothing bought by
guardian.
In a room, another room, thousands of square spaces define
your head, tiny feet, bumping into others,
once or twice
shiny dark eyes see the unknown, void,
in echo chambers always with them them they stand, walk, sit,
talk, push you, your body not shaped
in peripheries I search you out,
my own head emptied in language and horgone
waking dream-
arms like vegetables reach upwards and I am upwards I see them
pick you up, body so light glances at me
and in a moment I'm analysed:
transformed into an elaborate hiding place-
where better to hide than within another?
You stay quiet in my clavicle
I can feel your nose nudge, erratic breathing,
nails too short for sharpness rather exfoliate
for seconds I'm a mother. And yours. Yours now found deep down.
Instructors abort you for the next way to fill your day-
Caesar's scissors on my chest cut lightly bleed milkshakes-
shoulders break.
Tiny badminton life.