Natural Light The crayons crumble inside their plastic bag and a stick floats around the house, trapped inside like a bug. The Tupperware is muddy, the cardboard boxes soggy, and rocks slide down the chute of a toy cement truck. I feel like a drying-out drunk today, inside a bloated laundry basket with a headache, and my joints are bone on bone, my brain a misfire of thought and emotion. Natural light fills the room through slats of a window blind, alternating bars of dark and light, and the picture on the wall is of a butterfly stretching and drying its crumpled wings.
Jessamyn Rains is a writer, musician, and mother of four. She loves old books and new poetry. She lives with her family in East Tennessee.
Amethyst Review 