Listening to words out of touch
cross lily pads, one to the next
my rules, a tiny picture frame
debt of honor, repay the gift.

Headlights illuminate the path
listening to words out of touch
stay out of my own way, reclaim
imagination in the dark.

Circle through the tiles of story
dreams on doilies, nothing is lost
listening to words out of touch
fluorescent green upon the page.

Subtle changes to shape my truth
hold ectoplasm together
grief as homeless love blurs vision
listening to words out of touch.

BIO: Mona Mehas (she/her) writes about growing up poor, accumulating grief, and the climate from the perspective of a retired, disabled teacher in Indiana, USA. Her work has been published in over forty journals, anthologies, and online museums. Mona is a Trekkie and enjoys watching Star Trek shows and movies in chronological order. Her pamphlet, ‘Questions I Didn’t Know I’d Asked,’ is forthcoming with LJMcD Communications. Follow on Twitter @Patienc77732097 and linktr.ee/monaiv.