highway 51

I was stuck in the rose bush, you see-

the thorn in my side?

it has prevented me from gaining

speed.

It was 3 am, when I decided to address the blood

that had pooled on the old linen sheets

that covered this antique bed.

Remedy?

I suppose bandages help in the short-

term.

Big pictures are far too piercing

for my worn eyes- thirty one years.

twelve of which had been crippled

by a porcelain god.

 

Yesterday around 6 pm, I saw a goose with her goslings

crossing the railroad tracks by old 51.

I looked for the button to push for the walk signal,

but cars kept passing by.

I drove on- trying to ignore the image

of blood spilled and feathers floating to the

old rocky roadway.

 

Days are a subtle thing-

watching as my baby pushes a toy along

the carpet with her tongue.

Big pictures these days consist of

managing the grocery store and

making decisions about which fruits

are the least coated in harmful pesticides.

Stone fruits are the worst because you eat the skin-

they say.

Porcelain no longer oversees this life-

but I still feel the hole that was left by the thorn.


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