Sunday, May 2, 2010


Prancing through
the woods
naked save for
my backpack

on my way
to your house
for breakfast
or lunch
or dinner
or will you even
let me in?

Oh, don't I know it,
I leave much to
be desired,
my limbs so wiry
you'd think I was
made from pipe-cleaners,
eager as a god-damned dog,
salivating at your feet.

My swollen knuckles
meet your twisted
door frame,
in not-so-quiet

I glimpse you
dancing behind
your Sunday curtain,
the curve of your
spineless soul,
and a meek yelp
barrels out of my lungs,
followed by the
drip, drip, drip
of my watering mouth.

Turning swiftly on the balls
of my feet,
so red and raw
from my constant spinning,
I tip-toe around back,
to the garden.
My Grandmother,
her aged body shaking
like a frightened pup,
feasting her eyes
on the broken door knob.

Oh no,
we've been unwelcomed
again, so
Grandma and I
sit on the stoop
pant-less, bra-less,
stark naked
save for her
wrinkles, my

We swap
war stories,
hers unfolding themselves
from her skin
mine carefully
drawn out
from my bag

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