SITTING DOWN I NEVER REALIZE

THE BACK OF THE CHAIR IS WOWEN

AS A FLOWER AND STUNG LIKE A BEE

OR WHATEVER THEY FILL YOU WITH

WHEN YOU ARE YOUNG.

 

HOWEVER THAT FILL HAS GROWN 

MORE AND MORE IMPORTANT NOW,

KNITTING MY MOTHERS PATTERNS

WHILE CURING WORLD HUNGER IN MY

LENGTHY MASKS ONTO THE NEEDLES.

AND ROME WASN'T BUILD IN A DAY,

WHICH MEANS I CAN LEAN BACK AND RELAX

WHILE THE ICE MELTS AND THE TRASH 

REACHES THE HEIGHT OF MY HIPS,

MOVING FROM SIDE TO SIDE,

MAKING CLICKING NOISES AS THE BONES 

DETERIOATE AND SLOWLY TURN TO FLOUR.

THE FRESHLY BAKED BREAD CASTS A STEAM 

THAT TURNS THE HARD SURFACE INTO LIQUID

AND I THROW MY PIECES OF PUZZLE ON THE FLOOR

IN AGONY AS THE WARMTH LASTS FOR A SECOND

AND THE FRAME, LOOKING LIKE SOMETHING IT'S NOT

LIKE BUTTER, TOUCHES THE PAVEMENT 

AND HITS THE SEED OF CRESS SOMEBODY FORGOT TO SOW