By Molly Knox
Is it the lazy pull of my stitches?
Where it strings me along – forward to
Vague cotton and cardboard lands, passing light weight
with wasted time between breezes. From far away, clouds forged
By sanctitude. Resting in an old tartan pillow.
Is it the tight tug of a move?
Between bent lamp posts with faulty electric
Wires splayed out from metal chests. I take my rustic heart
Where I go with these roads. Introducing myself to new hedge
Acquaintances, new window worriers.
Is it the homespun tying knot of keys?
The crawl of unknown paths, unfamiliar street names
Which stretch narrow and goading, cracking muscles upwards
To enhance my sense of self. The wriggling monotony of untouched locks
Failing to cooperate.
There it is.
Don’t Stand Still.
It only kills time
Illustration by Adeline Zhao