her day in the shady, hot air
under the turquoise umbrella
slouched in a folding chair
singing capella

sipping cherry wine
in a long-stemmed glass
jotting down a line
as a bee flies pass

neighbor's lawn can stand a trim
the grass is high as a mountain
kids again are screaming at him
and robins drinking from the fountain

branches brushing the deck
squirrel’s fighting over the bird seed
everything's in check
at lower speed

curls, as the cat. Swirls of hair
dusting the chairs,
the lamps and the bureaus.
The wooden stairs
are her heroes, carpeted
in golden honey brown. She’ll
be flying out of town.

She's shedding
light as fireflies
dancing in the night. Sparkling
as diamond rings. Fluttering
her arms like butterfly wings.

She's shedding
skin, the snake. This reptile
suffocates. Coiled up, hissing
in the grass. She has to break
this mold/pass from
the python's hold.

She’s shedding
tears as dewdrops
rolling off a leaf, high up
in the trees. She’ll water the lilacs
as she weeps. The perfume sweeps
across the rows of painted marigolds.

as a painted wooden toy
a pup attached to a string
pulled in the backyard
through blooming gardens in spring
pulled so hard
till I broke my springs
and my flakes chipped off
could no longer ping
those buttered, golden hands
lost their cling
that pretty, soft voice
doesn’t whistle or sing
de’mode’
just something he’d fling
in the back of his closet
another plaything

can't be made of chalk. It fades
as men walk over it. It blends
with the ground. So, the white
turns brown.

This line of mine
can't be drawn with sticks. The men
kick them to the side. And roll in
just like the tide, drowning me
with their energy.

This line of mine
can't be built with bricks. It make
a wall a mountain tall. So, no man
can climb at all.

This line of mine
I frame in elastic. Not rigid,
but plastic. So, I can
stretch it out or pull it back. It can
expand or contract. Not set in
stone. But sewn in my
undergarments. So, men can leave
no comments.

eat so many red apples?
How can they hang on?
His hunger's waned.
He kicks the fruit that fall.
They grow soft and stained,
filled of holes from worms that crawl.

How can a man
fill his bag of apples till it breaks?
Leave the tree half empty
from all the apples he takes.
There's more on the ground
and less on his plate.
His eyes big as mountains.
But his belly plump and sate.

I cannot scratch
like this spot
in the middle of my back
a dancing dot
below my rolling shoulders
red hot
where my sunburn smolders
A tight knot
tied around my belly
I can't swat
my hands are jelly
I'm fraught
I cannot reach
the peeling clot
with biting teeth
I plot
to shake it loose
So, I squat
where none can see
my taut
back rubbing against the tree

If I can grow tall as you. But I'm
small. So, I fall as the acorns you
grow. And just as the acorns
I'm a nut in a tough cup, covering

me up. Rolling around
the bottom. Why can't I turn
as the leaves in autumn
golden and crimson? I live

in my shell prison. The squirrels
bury me. I lay dormant as buds
on the branch in winter. I splinter as
bark. I’d like to sing as the lark. Love

to fly as the doves
for my next meal. Why can't I
take the sticks and stones they throw
at me and build a nest high up in this tree?