The cloud curves through blue
as flowers collect dew
from birth places. Guts of earth
surprise once-clean skin
that stumbles home. Grass hugs
knees as fingers twine the other.
Bruised dress rises from earth floor
tough with mud, frozen cuffs.
Necklace cringes as door shuts
with such force to rattle windows.
Snores rumble the walls,
not like the mouse’s quiet steps.
Carpet scars soft fleshy knees
meant for different work, a life
free of hassle, easy money.
Shoes flee the scene, denies
wrongdoing that led to dung,
manure for a past now buried.
Suzanna Anderson studied creative writing at Bowling Green State University. She participates in National Novel Writing Month every year. Her interests also include watercolor, charcoal, and bookbinding. Currently she is the editor-in-chief of The Magnolia Review and the Review Editor at The Odd Ducks .