Even my bones are asleep and only the sky is alive.
I think I feel your fingertip circling the birthmark
on my collarbone (bruised by cupid’s arrow, you used to say)
but it’s only a ladybug, good-luck omen,
Magnolia blossoms carry southern winds
and wild lettuce pokes through my bare toes
and dandelion seeds, someone else’s wish,
catch on my sleeve.
Kasey Edison has previously been published in The Mississippi Review and The Broadkill Review. She lives in the Philadelphia suburbs and is a project manager for a large financial institution.