Sunday, November 2, 2014

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.


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