06/18 by Lauren Haldeman

On my heart, a little lion’s head grows.
It is a place of several evenings.

When I am asked

to paint my home, I paint 
a dark red circle.

One way to see

my baby crawling
through the yard is as a mass of matter:

thistle, bluegrass, thorns. The baby looks

back at her coordinates in me.

these coordinates that I carry

are terrifying. A distant hillside calls through 
the painting—

little bursts of magnesium & calcium.

One bicycle, up the hill,
drawing octagons through air.

I write ebb on the window-pane, feeling 
a little scared. I think steady now,

you numskull.