Midland

Summer is dying.

We have started to look

at each other with softness. Your back,

wet from the rain. I think about kissing you.

I wonder how much I believe in the zodiac.

It is simple. You remain unknown.

I tell myself this is normal.

What happens when you find boredom

in the soil? Ants crawl all over you.

I know what being swallowed feels like.

I think about earthworms and their many hearts.

Five to be exact. Maybe I am crazy.

I have never owned a horse, much less a man.

A life of running forward, how I want.

Alameda Sky Chapman is an artist from Brooklyn, New York. Her most recent poetry is in No, Dear, and more is forthcoming in Angel Food. She loves t-shirts. She is an earth sign.