Chipped paint flakes,
falls to the ground.
Falling faster.
Furiously.
Eating a hole in the wall,
to the other side.
Otherside?
The one where your soul
goes when you die.
Me? I’m not dead.
Chipped paint marked the wear
on my pale peach toes.
Wind crashed into them
hanging out the car window.
Yeah. They looked dead.
Corpse like as I imagined,
my toes painted somewhere inside
my tiny casket.
Not my death,
but the death of me.
Have no fear Momma.
My toe nails are painted
on the otherside.
Light Enough to Travel 