Paper cut into the shape of a marijuana leaf
is close enough to the vent to dance,
two cubicles down.
I begin to cross my right leg over the left but stop.
The sun sticks to my skin longer than usual,
and I am plantlike, cooling,
as I settle in again.
The paper is taped to a skinny straw that sits upright,
like magic, in a flower pot.
I pull my footrest forward, try to keep both feet down.
The office is crowded but crisp, white and gray.
The sun leaves my skin.
"Legs Crossed = Bad Circulation," an HR poster insists.
It is possible to get stuck in one position,
I'm coming to know.
The air conditioning hums, and I reach for my sweater,
watch the paper dance,
uncross my legs, uncross my legs.
Jen Knox earned her MFA in nonfiction writing and literature from Bennington College. She is the author of To Begin Again (2011 Next Generation Indie Book Award, winner in short fiction) and Musical Chairs. Her short stories and essays have been published in Annalemma, Blue Fifth Review, Gargoyle, Narrative, Short Story America, Superstition Review and elsewhere. Jen posts about the writing life and her work here:http://www.jenknox.com
Return to September 2012 Edition