Jennifer Firestone



Red hat        pulled over ear, the one with the point
mother says is lucky.

Green       constricted              breathing

amid Eucalyptus trees:     yellow-gold t-shirts    flushed cheeks   chest burn
to ½ mile mark.

Red.       Spots on a white suit shirt, bare cheeks in air, policeman
waves flashlight            giant pendulum in dark.     Outdoor    smell
from the park. Sugared mouth         wine cooler.


Stomach reaching the bottom.   Bristle, Bristle.   Cemented skin.
Mermaid with hair wiring behind……….


Its tendrils rake, say no to feeling beautiful, cut
yourself off at the neck. In startling ways perpetuate
tightness in chest, stomach, washed out local
anesthetic through front parts.


Brown-eyed girl
Break this         break that.

Don’t take ballet.
            Don’t be a waitress.

Dance with grandma:          “You’re such a big girl.”
Each foot raised- giant, sloppy.

Skin thickens    as if       hunted.

Don’t play music.
Don’t wear heels.

Give up.

I say give up, crown her.

“Why is this complicated?”


In a house
Of her own
With new model

Black on fingers
More pages


Why have eyesight for gray?

Why change the sheets

Why buy more food?

Can’t tell where
the power button is

but she’s a butterfly
on my eyebrow.

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