Tarry

Somewhere between a rocket to the moon and falling asleep in a rocking chair a caterpillar is building a cocoon from which it will never emerge, a fledgling refuses to be pushed from the brim of a nest, a leap frog’s legs lock in fear of leaving the lily on which it has stead. Somewhere between the course of a lifetime and the blink of an eye, a butt has become indistinguishable from a sofa cushion, the mantled fireplace of a suburban townhouse has begun to look like prison bars, the once invigorating idea of flirting with flies at the bar has become a swattable nuisance. Shouldn’t it just be easy to cut the strings from which you hang? Somewhere between a noose and the life saving lines dangling from an IV bag, something holds us back, holds us up, holds us accountable.