II At about the height
of the treetops,
my flying coach chuckled at me
when
I told her
I’d always believed
I’d need
actual wings to fly.
“Solar plexus,
Solar plexus.”
She whispered.
IX
She was too young
when a man took her innocence.
When she got it back,
it was broken.
LII
Windblown curtain,
paintbrush,
budding forsythia,
whistling
tea kettle.
What did I
come in here for?
