Buckwheat Noodles

by Alexa Stevens

We eat until we are
Sated; slip into the night like eels,
Wriggling hearts pinned on silver
Moons. Here I am,
Here am I. I wheeze my soul into a tune and
Burn it on my flashing eyes,
Stringed instruments like spirits that cram
Nervous against the ceiling.
Lift your hands!
Lighten your tongues!
We slide past each other in alleyways and
Steal mundane magic from a smile.

It does no good to sit in water.
Make your oasis dance! Your body is
Screaming for movement!
Joy is something to sit in open hands,
Embroidered into cheek-pull-smiles.
The air is new. The harvest does not wait for
Weary fingers! Cut your feet from the muddy soil and
Fly like the silver on falling stars, on
Waxing wings. The sun is hiding!
Let him cower!
You are the dark that lies dormant.

Rejoice in the crunch of bread! The crush of
Fear between thumb and wall.
Catch the sound of living and
Flash it on your ears,
We live with thin threads and
Do not snap! Do not tangle!
Let your feet be sore from life.

Draw madness through needle and leave it dangling,