When I raised my foot into the air
All that was left was the spiral of parts and fluids
Like cold Frito pie
Left over from last year.
Pieces of outside mixed with pieces of inside
Like a three-year-old’s finger painting
Left out in the rain.
The crunchy parts, like seashells on the beach
Made a sound like a tiny teacup shattering.
Some parts stuck and smeared on my shoe.
Each step had a new crackle, or slide, or creak.
All day long, I remembered.
by Aimee Wray
Confession: I am afraid of one thing…Cockroaches! There is a little piece of Satan inside each cockroach. You kill them and they come at your harder. They are the devil. I wrote this poem to commemorate a time when I killed one, but still thought about it all day. I. Can’t. I. Just. Can’t!
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