Baby squeals meow!
loudly in other room
I peel brightly turnips in kitchen
starkly lonely
Wrestling parade of boy-man faces from mind
Who, don’t want me or
I don’t. I have to stop to
find a pen:
To live inside a poem
Is better than to give into
Sickly sadness sniffing
With sticky snout.
word is refuge
baby meowing
Turnips cubed and ready for holiday.
If earth could bare more children
And delivered me
My Good Man
I would willingly give over
all time.
Somehow
It makes sense, this compulsion to seed valleys
with tearful human flowers,
To feed
The earth
With song