Poems & Essays

20 Nov

Aisles 12, 13

General/Column No Response

She touches things.

Red pencils

                                   Yellow pencils

                                                                               Glitter-sparkle snowflake pencils

And crayons.
Candles.
Cans of cat food that she sorts and stacks while my back is turned then says

See? I put them in order.
Pink in a line, then purple, then blue.

Down the aisle, things on hooks sway in her wake,
the sound of cellophane under gangly fingers crackles
again, again until

Stop!

Hands in your pockets,
hands on the cart,
hands anywhere except

everywhere.

She clasps her fingers into a burrow before her
but even then I see her eyes flicker,
barely holding the need
inside a tightly closed fist.

 

Kim Hunter-Perkins writes in snapshots, always striving to capture that moment that is fleeting. She is the editor of The Prompt lit mag and her work has appeared in Sow’s Ear, Off the Rocks, HLFQ, and recently in Gravel. She is the mother of two, a phd candidate in literature, and always fighting the good fight to find a little time to write.

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