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