Constellations
Constellations pad
the sky paths, leave puma
prints above my head.
Bed Sheets and Dental Floss
Laundry crept into my head,
folded me, hid me
in corners, pressed me
to the edge
you didn’t notice
the count was off,
had to be,
could have been
much worse, sheets
dangling from the ceiling
like a sentence.
Floss from razored boxes
tripped me,
wound its minted accusations
through my brain;
all those hours of weaving
couldn’t know
if it would really hold
to lower me
outside the walls.
Cindy Bousquet Harris is a poet and a licensed marriage and family therapist. Her poems have appeared online and in print journals, including Indiana Voice Journal, Snapdragon, Eclectica, and Blue Heron Review. Cindy’s had the pleasure of giving poetry readings at the Claremont Library, the Dorothy Ramon Learning Center, and at Beyond Baroque Literary Arts Center in Venice, CA. She lives in southern California’s “Inland Empire” region with her husband and children.
Inlandia: A Literary Journey 