Give me a year
to reorganize my mind.
A hurricane blew through

you see,
I ended up having to scrape off

my lips, my face and hand them away.
They were beyond reconstruction –

just slivers and shivers of how they were.

With my new thinking
I settled into the habit
Like a cat curls up

before the hearth,
Like coming home,
Like I belonged but

forgotten how.

After a year
And after accidentally making

a habit of it
I’ll be ready

for floating in the atmosphere
A disjointed jumble

systematically erasing her life.

I’ll find scraggled

rubs of an eraser
In place of mine.
It’s all about how

you set yourself up for the fall,
I suppose

because, it’s inevitable after all.