Bits Gleaned

After dinner I ate a grapefruit.
“It’s so sour,” my dad said
As my teeth cleaved the juice vesicles
That crowded the walls of each slice,
Unleashing a flash of heat
That peeled across the cut on my lip.

The way my now-long bangs
Lean limply on my cheeks
Irritates me. I put my hair up.
The now-long bangs slither from
The hairband while the back of my neck shivers.
It is almost summer but I
Pull on my dad’s coat, the one four years
Older than me, beige with the
Sleeves puffed like small sausages
So that my arms are toothpicks threading
Through.

I haven’t been outside in a week.
Quarantine has made me restless
But not enough to make me go
Outside because I know my allergies will give me
Two eyes full of bees and a leaky faucet for a nose.
The clock flashes 10:00 pm. Then 10:04 pm.
If I were ten I’d be asleep by now.

But that was so long ago.

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