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.