My mama don't hit me no more
But that don't mean she can't cut me down
To the bone like she used to;
Words axe-sharp to whittle away
All the illusions I had created for myself
Those of security and confidence and self-worth-
Glances flitting over me
Like I'm not even there,
Like I'm not even worth looking at.

We are a collection
Of mixed half-things;

i.  B i t s and b o b s that don't belong anywhere
But beside each other-
       that bent plastic spoon curled
                                                          r    
                                                            o
                                                               u         d   that stub of a candle
                                                                    n

Spine t w i s t e d like an aged ballerina,
Curled protectively over the red, red (red! like the blood that simmers under your skin) candle



ii. songs from different ERAS
One song from the 80s with their razzle and dazzle and neon lights,
                                                                    their advertisements in CAPITALS and exclamation marks
                                                                                                                                          !!!!
and; another song from today, one of those "hipster" ones as
the kids these days like to call them;
                sorrow spill-
                    ing out of them
                        like melting ice- cr
                                  eams on stairs

No one thought they would fit together
Until a mix,
A playlist on 8tracks was made.



iii.  abandoned              sets
                           swing
                                                     on a lonely playground
on a lonely park.

Swinging in t
                           a
                     n
                           d
                     e
                            m
                                   (but not quite)
                                   (but that's okay)

My mother grew up in a small town
and she married in a small town
and she lived in a small town
and she passed away here.
And our neighbours came with their casseroles
And the florist gave my family her best violets
And there was a discount on the casket.

My sister grew up in a small town
and she married in a small town
and she lived in a small town
And she works at the high school as an English teacher.
And she takes her kids to the park every Saturday,
And her car never uses more than a liter a month
And there is always a booth for her family at Sal's Diner.

My brother grew up in a small town
and he never did marry
but he never did leave.
So now he lives in this small town.
And he only ever takes his job as a deputy seriously
And every Sunday he tends to his geraniums,
And there is never any mail in his mailbox
And his coffee order has always been the same.

I grew up in a small town
and nothing ever changed
and so I left.
And I will never manage to travel to all the bus stops
And my barista never ever remembers my face
And the librarian is stern, always, instead of friendly
And there is never ever a dull moment
In this little world I've created in my big town.

Perhaps when the moon
Wanes
And waxes again
I will be myself
Starved out and skinny at first;
Then whole again.