over two men. I didn’t see
me standing naked as
the winter trees. Stiff as
a starch shirt. The hurt I

worn was marmalade. And
spread in yonder sky as fire, the sticky
slopping syrup called desire. I
lapped it up as a mangy dog

that hadn’t eaten in a week. I was
bones and teeth. I waved my pen
in the air spelling letters in the
billowing clouds. I fell over my puddles

of teardrops till I was face-down
on the ground in the sherry and
beer. And I couldn’t fit in this head
that the men didn’t care. I outgrew

their mistakes as my size two
pants. I danced in the snow. I waltzed
in the rain. But I fell again into this -
“that was then”