WILL THERE BE MORE
One boob sags lower in the picture
you took of me standing in front
of the blue, conical flowers, did you hear comical
when I said here, maybe
from this direction what I meant was
make me young, less barbed & bloated
with meaning, I mean make me forget
this thunderous thrashing the way I lash
myself with self- imposed deadlines:
run ten miles by end of year
fit back into my favorite blue
dress, stave off death with thoughts of
suicide, The Cranberries I'm free
to decide in the picture I don't
appear liminal or sad I'm whiter than
absence my Dijon dress
art deco leaves & you
implied by the frame, the fact of the photograph
holding in time what we did after
the sun abetting our stolen hour
while we dusted off the names of flowers
This poem was published by SUSAN / The Journal. Cover photograph by Darla Mottram.