we stuffed sixty-four crayons into the VCR because we couldn’t stop at sixty-three flakes of technicolor wedged in between teeth, too tight for a floss pick
you said that home videos were meant to be watched with a rosy retrospection
we stole the Denny’s napkin box (two a.m our syrup-drenched hearts never too soggy) we ordered pancakes in shapes of mice with whipped cream eyes and bacon bows they gave us plastic-wrapped crayons because they closed fifteen minutes ago and we were too in love to listen
they didn’t bother to ask us about
we stood in a sea of white, petals beckoning us – pick me, pick me!
the sun beamed down on our
crop circle. we held our hands, palms up, offering our crayons to the sky. satisfied, thirst-quenched, their juice streamed down our arms ’til veins of raspberry cerulean dripped their life below.
we clasped hands, smudging our sacrificial masterpiece, and watched the albino rhododendron extinction flourish and wither before our eyes.
I held the crayon, point up, between the first joint of my thumb and index finger shaking, riddled with caffeine and fear
you peeled back its paper sleeve in perfect perforation, only one tear escaped. Its skin was smoother than I expected. You put your hand on my hand and we drew circle over circle, an infinite spirograph, the hours winding like a spool.
Cammie Finch is a UM undergraduate student, studying both English Lit and Creative Writing through the Residential College. She has written scores of stories and poems that have gone on to be published by the Michigan Daily, Midwestern Gothic, Exceptions Journal at Michigan State University, Ink Ribbon Press, and several on-campus student publications. She is currently working on her honors thesis: a compendium of quirky characters, absurdist plot twists and magical realism. Her favorite words are betwixt, kerfuffle, akimbo, and oink. She also collects floatie pens and drinks too much tea.