By Anika Ades

Last night, I sat under the stars
and ate a rotisserie chicken
on the highway boundary
with my best friend, Max.
In between bites
we discussed the stars and the wind,
Trying to tell the difference between
the satellites and shooting stars.
We bit through tendon,
catching our molars and chipping bones
we talked until it was just
for the sake of helping our teeth move.
Discarding the pieces like our fading footsteps
we jumped the fence
one toe-heel at a time,
landing quietly in the grass
wet blades, cold and cutting
damp corduroys.
If our sneakers came untied
they dragged and we tripped,
eyes trailing the comets,
the moon,
our reflection in the Milky Way.