,
this poem
will answer to no
one, all flailing phrase
and devil
-may-care. she
might even leave
bald spots
here
or there.
last time
she tried to get
the words just right
in rows and lines
all cleaned and kerned
with shining faces. this
time, she erases
every
other
line.
(turns out, it all
falls just fine, and flexed). this
time, she might just smudge
a mess in finger paints
and colored chalk. then take
a nap. then take a walk. then
breathe. or leave, or whatever
suits her
(not so) fancy.
give her a plum. a wheel barrow.
a rose. a place where the sidewalk
ends. a raven. some snow. a road.
a tale un
-told. just give her a room of her
own
to run away
and next time, maybe
she’ll stay.
written for poetic asides November chapbook challenge.
