your two big toes

the gate’s frame heaves and hoes
depending on the season
in winter, snug and resistant
like a pill bug
rolled up tight, looking
to tuck to a soft
warm side rib
then in summer
blooming loose, an open
laughing game
can’t catch
my running smile
but love, me
I am all the rooted
wildness
so why sit scrubby
tending distant
threads, measuring
stilted gulls
over lumbering water

Written By: Lisa Graves