no hands

A twelve-year-old girl keeps

a sunfish in a bucket for days.

One she caught while camping.

She feeds it bits of leftover burger.

Dried worms from the sidewalk.

Poor, stupid moths that bang

against her bedroom window.

And ants.

The sunfish floats.

Surrounded by white walls.

Under a narrow shaft of light.

The big sky that waits,

is occasionally blocked

by big brown eyes

and a wide toothy smile.  

Gills in. Gills out.

Fish die.

From heat,

lack of oxygen,

birds that watch from rooftops,  

and neglect,

as the girl plucks flowers

from the neighbor’s garden.

Jumps for hours on the trampoline.

Hides in the maple’s leafy branches,

eating Skittles stolen from Dollar General

until she is brave and indestructible,

all hopped up on sugar,

circling the block

of a boy she likes,

riding her bike

no hands.

~ KJ