He Comes to Me in Pieces

Teapots or a Chime

Sometimes,
instead of a blank page,
it’s easier to look around,
pick a point,
alight on an object,
and just write something
rather than think
of all that white space.

Want of Apron, It Goes Like This

Butterfly appliqués,
embroidered lilies,
scalloped edges.
Chinese peaches,
and polka dots,
atop cherry blossom swirls.

They line the walls on perfect pins
like grandma had:
Wooden men with no arms
or faces
but a barrel of potential
with a bottle of glue, a pen,
and a few pipe cleaners.

I’m not an aproned girl.
Life’s too messy to clean up
as I go.

But the possibility’s there
hung out,
strung out
for me to want.