Love blossomed roundly
Into a cluster of cells
That wriggled and danced.

Little girl baby,
Puckered red raspberry,
Sucking with urgence.

Gingham dresses and
Ponytails and sweet sugar:
Childhood memories.

Her teenage years
Were idyllic only to
Those who envied her.

Red ink and red blood
Both lose their appeal after
They come too often.

Kisses meant nothing
When his eyes were open
And they always were.

She plead guilty to
Growing up and choosing wrong
That hot summer night.

Too much coffee
And ink spilling on fingers
Marked her college years.

By this time kisses were
Like stale bakery bread
That you wonder why you eat.

Once she thought she found love:
Sheets tangled and keys turned
But then he said the wrong thing.

Dragging lacquered nails
Across the muted sky, she
Fled into the night.

Love stopped when money dried up.
She buttoned crisp shirts and
Dyed her hair a respectable color.

She bought a dog
As if that would solve her problems
It only dirtied the floor.

Middle-age came but she wouldn’t
Admit it so she bleached her teeth
And secretly devoured chocolate.

She met, married, loved
Grew bored, pretended,
And then divorced.

Onions made her cry
More than men did these days
But she didn’t admit it.

Wrinkles arrived, dry and deep.
She was surprised to see them one morning
While looking in the mirror,

“Look your age” they said.
But she refused to paint her face
With dust or red rust.

“I’ve always been a bit of a rebel”
That’s what she told herself
And she believed it.
She moved somewhere warm
And waited to die while she
Watched other people play golf.

She gave up waiting to die
And found love again
Because after all isn’t life all about love?

When death finally came for her,
She met him not unwillingly
But she did not welcome him.

Slowly her cells dispersed,
Burrowing into the earth
And seeping into the sky.