40

Littleleaf linden is on street corners
in Brooklyn with little flowers. In early summer
they bloom, in fall they give a fruit the size
of a peppercorn that falls in between fingers.

On days when littleleaf is holding moister,
I am holding anxiety in the pits of my arms
and in the spaces between my ribs. The young
leafs can be eaten in a vegetable salad.

I feel silly because I am trying to shake it
before in settles so stretch my body and
think about linden wood in honeycomb frames,
in beehives, busy in the summer.

Today it was 97 degrees.
The humidity was high.
-Hannah

Walking up the street
Never noticing the slight incline
Until tired legs
Carried me step by step to my door

The narrow staircase
Never seemed so steep and so tall
Until tired feet
Grew heavy beneath my body's weight

The night's heat seeps into my pillow
It did not seem so thick
Until tired eyes
Closed slowly in the thick tides of air

The smooth textures of arms and legs and sheets
Touched by tired hands
-KM