We draw ourselves into circles,
spiraling onto blacktop
with thick pastel chalk.
The fine colored dust coats our
fingers and slips into
the cracks of a fingerprint
as if to say;
this is who I am,
this is how you will
remember me.
Later, when eyelids flutter shut and
we’re camped out in the circles we’ve
drawn for ourselves, I lay flat on my
back to look
at the sky.
If I look hard enough,
the stars connect like
the smudged chalk in my
fingerprints.
-Rory Finnegan
spiraling onto blacktop
with thick pastel chalk.
The fine colored dust coats our
fingers and slips into
the cracks of a fingerprint
as if to say;
this is who I am,
this is how you will
remember me.
Later, when eyelids flutter shut and
we’re camped out in the circles we’ve
drawn for ourselves, I lay flat on my
back to look
at the sky.
If I look hard enough,
the stars connect like
the smudged chalk in my
fingerprints.
-Rory Finnegan