Clay
When we played all those blue games
near the highway, Mom didn’t stop
us at first, though cars flowed like the creek
behind our house. When we knocked over
her favorite pot of daisies on our rush
after a runaway soccer ball, then Mom dashed,
overtook us. Cars stopped, had to claw
their way through a snagging siren.
Maybe this moment was the moment,
friends suggest years later,
that I got my guardian angel. Maybe.
The stream still has to use its teeth to get by.
Megan Wildhood is a neurodiverse writer from Colorado who believes that freedom of expression is necessary for a society that is not only safe but flourishing. She helps her readers feel seen in her poetry chapbook Long Division (Finishing Line Press, 2017) as well as Yes! Magazine, Mad in America, The Sun and, increasingly, less captured media outlets. You can learn more at meganwildhood.com and join her newsletter focusing on mental health in a world going mad here.
