Shy

In the clamor of a bustling room,

I am stapled into the hem of my chair

by the etiquette of being far away from home-

the Thumbelina I swallowed

and her neatly pointed toes

kicking up leaves in the back of my throat, shy and impatient

sweet deviant waiting for the right time to laugh at everything.

A peach fuzz tongue swells against

the seam of lips I’ve sewn shut,

and sandbags sway from my ankles.

Reduced to playing with a paper straw,

I can make a game out of anything.