yesterday up
like dust on the floor. And
stored the gritty sand
in my bedroom drawer.

I swept
his lies
underneath the rug, till the
pile grew into a mountain. I
wasn't counting on tripping
over the smoky stack with only
a woolen weave to hold it in
the shack.

I swept
my dress
along the aisle
like a bride's train. And wept
my whole bouquet, as petals
shed like rain. And the stain
painted on my back became a bullseye
for men to aim all their flak.