I made weeping over my watery
grave. Looking in a pool mirror on
the ground, I didn't recognize my
face. I saw an old woman, wrinkled

and disgraced. My honey hair
was tangled as my mind. I let my future
fall far behind. When did warm summer
showers turn to pelting hail? When did

a dancing breeze turn into a raging
gale? When did the blooming lilac trees
scratch my nose making me sneeze?
When did the melodic hum of the robin’s

rupture my eardrums? When did
the horizon drop from my eyes
in plain sight? When did grey clouds
roll in dousing the sun's smiling light?

had me tripping over myself as
a child. Trying to balance this body
was like standing on a teeter-
totter. I could float on my back

like an otter. Just don't ask me
to stand. My legs were rubber
bands. As I grew my legs bent
outward. So, a train could run through

them. I was not plumb. I was
uneven. When I met him
my legs became tree trunks,
growing roots under the ground. I

could not move. He cut me down.
I was not limber. So, I built my house
from timber. From all that fallen wood
stood my home, on sunset hill.

am I. The only high-rise I enjoy
is the sun rise early in the morning.
I don't like lying tangled up in the sheets
in my bed snoring. My friends are

the jay and the robin, the chipmunk
and bunnies hopping in my back
yard. The only stars I follow are
the shining beacons painted on

a moonlit sky. I have no ties
that bind me. You can find me
under the old oak tree in a canopy
of emerald leaves, swinging in my denim

hammock, drinking coffee out of
my ceramic cup, curled up with a
book. Simple things you cannot take from
me, cool me down like a summer's breeze.

as a wedding band. It molds
like wet clay to my hand. It's not
loud as a freight train, more
like a gentle summer's

rain. I cannot hold the world
inside of it. There’re only a few
that fit. It’s not hot like the
midday sun. It's warm and

sweet like a Belgian bun. My circle
is tight. But it doesn't strangle me,
allowing me room to breathe. Even
small there's room to grow. Spreading

my wings, embracing me through
highs and lows. It's a bouquet of
colorful flowers in my garden. And no
winter has made it harden.

don't bend or drop
their petals. They’ve metal
stems from end to end.
They don't perfume the air,

like the lilac trees or
feed the hungry bees. They don't
blow in the wind or bloom
in my garden. They look like

a picture in a frame, all standing
the same height.  They don't like
water or sunlight. These types of flowers
can stay in the dark for hours. They'll

not wilt in the palm of my hand. I'll not
see them along God's green land. They’re
like a lot of women, I know. They don’t
have the power to grow.

when I fell over him. We both
packed a ton of luggage from
shorts to dresses to spouses
and stresses. But we didn’t

iron out the baggage we
carried, nor did he tell me that
he was still married! He tripped on
his words as he ate chicken aspic. After

every entrée he’d pull out his
plastic, sign the paper. And hand it over
to the waiter.  Outside temperatures
rise and so did his temper. After

the bill we went on ****** of anisette
and drunken fast ***. We threw it
all out for this, for the life we
thought we had missed.

long before the barking
winter. Before this earth
grew cold and splintered.
Hardened like frost on

the ground outside. Before
weeping icicles in the powder
coffee cup and throwing up on all
the lies. Before chain-link ties

bounded milky hands. Before
pencil legs turned rubber bands,
making it unable to stand or
walk out the door, before

this ginger head rolled
on the floor. Should have run
at “hello”. The mouth screamed
yes. But spiked heels move slow.