new light-up pink shoes

Mom bought them yesterday.
glittery shoelaces bounce up and upside
down every time they hit the hopscotch.
my heart is full of vanilla soft serve and glow-in-the-dark pencil crayons.
the lights from my shoes dance with the dandelions.

the wind changes suddenly and a strand slips out of
the carefully pinned
ribbon in my hair.

it warps around the air, and becomes a leaf.

my jaw unhinges,
wide and unafraid,
revealing the growing green of throat, blood turning to sickly sweet sap.
a Hummingbird approaches
(he loves sweet nectar).

bony arms contort into trembling branches. another Hummingbird appears.
delicate strawberry skin of legs peels back uncovering moss,

each vertebra melting and solidifying into an old tree trunk.

Mom told me this would happen. i hoped it wouldn’t.
i miss my pink shoes.
the Hummingbirds don’t stop.