by Marissa Bell Toffoli.
Sequins of light dance on the wall.
As mesmerizing as watching
the girl at the party who’s had one too many.
I see the holes in everything.
If we would let the light, it would sing, too.
Why do we dust it away,
tug at our already roughed up hems?
We should do more for each other.
To no good end, paper stars
drift in the window at the mercy of light.