Cramped duplex, snarled weeds.

A woman drinks tea. Blood

 

from her chapped mouth smears

the lip of her cup. She waits

 

on her porch to be lifted up.

First she sits at perfect attention,

 

then slips into sleep, wakes

in coolness, neighbor cat

 

on a wicker chair beside her,

pines casting shadows.

 

Charms bring luck to her,

rabbit foot against forgetting,

 

her father’s wheat penny

for true value. How tough

 

must the heart be? How hard?

Her chest when it lifts with a breath

 

has intelligence, her tongue

relaxed, blood hot, secret innerness

 

an antidote to sorrow. She walks

to her bathroom mirror, tries to comb

 

her tangled hair. Darkness comes

down to her, snapping its jaws.