A Spruce Protuberance

Today she wasn’t anyone

she’d ever been before.

She surely wasn’t she.

In fact, she seemed to have

produced a spruce

protuberance erupting

from her pate that quite

equated with an uninvited “he.”

Colors wrapped around

them randomly -- and bred,

perhaps, the dawning

of a thought that what

she’d wrought was not

so much a renovated “me”

as some collective renegade

of undiscovered “you.”

Other revelations,

though, were few.

.