to sprinkle over me and not baby powder
I can rise in this heat. And not lie as a wafer. It's much
safer when they don’t know you. None can expose
you. I’ve pulled apart like an onion flower, crispy on

the outside and silky on the in. But I’m more than
just a weeping, rolling bulb of yellow skin. I’ve
curdled over the years from jumping hurdles
as a horse. I’m looking for the path that’ll

take me on a different course. Old as the oak
in my backyard. But even he turns his leaves from green
to red and gold, a blooming marigold standing high
with head pushing through the sky. But I’m the sort

of woman that doesn’t shed her leaves. I’m tired of
acting like a dog matted down with fleas. I’m going to
shake loose from this noose wrapped around me.

I am so sedimental, but
the subtle differences between me and the crumbles of earth
are growing overwhelmingly stale.
when rocks are crushed, they are used to build up roads and homes.
things unknown to me.
those who collect these gems uncovered by time
will sometimes worship even earth’s smallest private parts,
carrying them around, close like a golden tick,
but there is no joy in keeping the crumbs of what was
at the most
a half grown, tiresome treat.
toss me into the water, drawn in by my flat surface and smooth curves
and watch me catch a breeze and sink to the bottom.
i’m no good at skipping, but it’s okay
because you’ll find another at the edges of the earth.