Each day jabs its hands
inside my chest
and steals a piece of me.
I am slowly dissolving into
the air, being reassembled into a collage
of the girl that smiles at me
on the subway and the mailman and
my high school choir director and
that piece of advice my father once told me
that I will never forget.
I am a masterpiece, the universe’s
papier mache. She is spinning me
on her wheel and shaping me,
molding me.
Silenticel 