Temporary Anatomy

I tripped on the curb where the cement is cracked

and almost landed on a small, chalky ghost.

It was just a child’s outline, roughly tracked,

with a lopsided head and a hand like a post.

I stepped over the ribs, the yellow dust smear

catching the edge of my sneaker’s worn sole.

It’s starting to rain. It’ll all disappear.

The water will swallow the body whole.

We leave these marks like they’re going to stay,

like a drawing on stone is a permanent thing.

I looked at my yellow toe, rubbing away

the ghost of a shoulder. It gives me a sting

to think how easily we’re washed from the street.

I walked home with the powder still on my feet.