iii.
head whirling like tumbleweed, she woke
with Nazca lines across her back; intricate
pathways raked by the tails of minor
stars falling from lowered ceilings.
pain is derived from the loss of hope,
like the sharp thrill of broken glass
colonizing the genital tract, buddies taking
turns behind a white picket fence, the sticky
smell she knows from overheated dorm rooms
and the knowledge she can be who she wants to be:
power broker super vixen fashionista manga artist
or, perhaps, sitting up by herself, without cushions.
ii.
a star team can be a girl’s first major heartbreak:
it’s not that she couldn’t handle the ego bruise (post
puberty fat look, heels propped up on the chairs’ legs
to reduce thigh spread) or the bouts of dry-heaving
in overheated dorm rooms.
after all, she can be who she wants to be: power broker
super vixen fashionista manga artist or back to her
old lolling ways – watching tumbleweeds with eyes
seemingly enlarged by context.
and yes, he did sign a piece of paper backwards, lick it
and stick it to her chest, arranged her raking limbs
like Nazca lines, eventually letting her hold her
legs up while he fucked her.
i.
when she was eight, this was her happy place:
white picket fence,
dog lolling on the mezzanine,
tumbleweed raking the sky.