Anxious
by Beth Konkoski
Some days my details
shine out from beneath
a microscope, turning
invisible slights and germs
into tackle dummies
I must force to the ground.
When I hurl myself
and miss or feel their breathy
waiting in the wings
of my days, I prowl,
wear a path through the carpet
like any common zoo lion
in the split shadows of his cage.
It is the heat and flutter
of an insect cloud
building to eruption
in my chest. Only screaming
or tears, not even my daughter’s
arms, will release me.
Gyroscope Review 17
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