*Dedicated to my five-year-old self

It’s always me
in my carrot cake tweed jacket
its caramel collar taut around my neck
speckled with goosebumps
pores like moon craters
textured up the vase of my neck
as dehydrated flowers droop out of my parted lips.
It’s always her and her moon shoes
her bangs quilted over her forehead
her imagination quilted over her regard
shelves deconstructed to a plane,
she scatters museums around the matted carpet
worn by pacing bare feet
and it’s always us
aging and curating and
building trinkets up around us to a
sky spectacle
and together we hold each other
behind the red curtain.
Between our hands lies
our bedroom
children’s book pink turned sickly purple walls
filling a quivering medicated spoon,
woodland plushes and lava lamps,
handcrafted books,
before and after photos.
Between us,
there lies hope
and dust.

© 2022 Ashley Gilland