Skipping Skeletons

Jessica Hudgins

The day after we danced for the first time,
my desire sent the scissors from the desk.
It set my phone ringing. It threw open
my windows and forced the door.
It started my period. It started
my roommates’ periods. When I tried
to use the microwave, the circuits blew.
I went down to the basement:
water was everywhere. The clothes
in the wash were mangled. Going upstairs,
my socks slipped on every step.
A new scar rose like a tooth
on the knuckle of my index finger.
A new painting appeared on the wall
above my dresser: skeletons with huge strides
across a field of flowers. I am
scared to leave the house. An earthquake
every time I check the weather.
I haven’t seen you in a while. I’d like to.