I’ve been the invisible friend, the cowlick in the middle of the scalp. Parted sideways, pitching tents for newcomers, A broomstick of sortments, a  lampshade – a tender flicker listening. Flowering others in light

what I’ve been…

When you walked, your shoes stepped over mine, the bumble, the busy/ tend not to see. while there are more fountains /they’ve always been- colored ones, white ones, Latino, cisterns salted with the same steam. Heated from the same mud.

My friends, she’s always speaking

as if I can’t,

what she meant to say was

“sorry – she spoke out of turn”

buzzing under my fog- no I didn’t/watch it/ I’m walking here too

“I know she didn’t lean over enough, to let you pass.” “Hey, are those new shoes? They look nice on you”

“Where you’d get them? I like that pink lace, iced out/high tops”

I bend down to rub the corner of my toe- to feel it ain’t broke, no parts missing

my thoughts/ belong to hers/ I am the Moabite/ woman at the well/ at high noon

everyone thirst,

I let you drink first, a common courtesy I believe

my sip will taste different

by the time I start – the waters are warmer now, fountains running, over boiling

I don’t mind – room temperature but from now on I won’t let nobody

not even you,

my friend, burn my tongue

kindness sis. Krissy (free photo pixabay)