The Tights She Wore
by Sheila Dong
A cat face peeking over each knee
and a tail curling up the back of each thigh;
her bike, the bell-ring moistening my eyes.
Trying to think of a motionless lake but
otters start paddling and I want to tie the bow
at the front of her blouse. Amazing how
pastas come in orange and purple and green,
wagon wheels and valentine hearts in December;
at the store she hums behind every corner.
My back’s to the wall. I’ll never speak to her, never
catch my breath, hot velvet over my mouth and nose;
trying to think of cold streams but a breaststroke
troubles the wavelets and I sight her black ringlets.
I perch with my birdcage at the edge of the known world.
The bricks in the wall are small and pink and impeccably laid.
Sheila Dong is the author of Moon Crumbs (Bottlecap Press, 2019). Their work has appeared or is forthcoming in Heavy Feather Review, Juke Joint, Gone Lawn, Rogue Agent, and Citron Review, among other places. Sheila holds an MFA from Oregon State University and lives in Tucson, AZ. Learn more at sheiladong.carrd.co.