by Jennifer Smith
but I wasn’t
the red bull of the setting sun,
the green dragon
bearded with age,
singed gold plating his scales,
the harpy, the gorgon
the maenad, or sphinx
asking for your love through death
turned to stone, bare bones
slips of skin left around,
just a girl who said too much
styled in smiles,
willing to do
a million favors.
I might as well have been
tsunami, avalanche,
earthquake or hurricane,
might as well have been
the crow at your window,
old shuck, banshee,
corpse light or ticking beetle,
for all you seemed to think
affliction followed in my step,
consumption, plague
black death, ring around
the rosy blush in my cheek
blooming to say your name
or kiss your face.
*Photo courtesy Mark Ou.