Missed Synapses Heidi Sampson My body hums like electricity through a fallen power line, snapping at the wet grass and fallen branches, pulling my legs right, then left, constantly twitching. I bump his body for what seems like the hundredth time. What’s wrong? Without an adequate answer, he rumbles from my bed like thunder after a lightening strike, and I, confined to a result I cannot control, I wish moments were capable of missed synapses, to go back to that autumn high school day when I walked by two boys, one blond with hazel eyes, both leaning against a locker. To not have looked back and noticed him noticing me. Heidi Sampson’s poetry has appeared within The Wax Paper, and Touchstone: a Kansas State University publication. Her creative non-fiction has appeared within The Lunch Ticket of Antioch University, Los Angeles. She also freelances for The Minnesota Valley Business Magazine of Mankato, MN.