Sabrina Calle in small town
Birthday Poem: 23
three peony yawns on their lioness faces
not so sudden, not palindrome
horse heavy laden with complicated digits
no codes to be deciphered, no wink. three tiers
of green filaments, twenty odd years
of filling in the blanks. what day, what compliment
have we considered here? what hourly undertaking
gilded such remarks? in truth, there is nothing. the misplaced
souvenir. in other words, these bird hooves
scraped to their death. another stretch
mark, an open door. less phone calls. the splintering season.
two strange sisters crab walking over fruit punch
ice cubes in a tray. " yes, quirky like Oprah quirky" one laughs
another in; both fling their heads back. one dream: be less
assertive. more moisturizer with SPF, less sundays
than ever before. what inescapable timing. his on goings
seem natural now, I’ve even forgotten the star fruit.