It is a sunny afternoon, the light
coming in yellow through her curtains
that cut through the smoke.
Cat Stevens feels like water inside my soul
and then she switches it to Bread
and hands me a dust rag.
I dance across the green and brown
carpet squares; I wipe the hazy walls, the stiff
yellow furniture with the green and gold flowers;
speakers as tall as I am:
it is 1984 and I am my mama’s bumble bee
She is young and beautiful;
this is the age I wanted to be her–chain-smoking Dorals
and sipping black coffee, no men for us, no fathers, no drunks
She tells me to get dirty but stay in the yard as she
folds freshly washed laundry from the Good Will.
I see her always moving, and I was a part of that motion,
that music like water.
I used to find my gravity in her eyes
Not this woman
and tells me
“Amy if there was a gun, I’d do it”
tears roll down the lines
of her tired face
weeping for the men that
changed us. Changed us all.
At thirty, I am across the table in my secret desperation
I hear the invasion of The Guess Who singing,
my favorite, “Undun” Continue reading “She’s Come Undone”