O Juliet

After my second funeral

I ran from my gorgeous morbid tomb,

those grand deflated clothes, the dust,

my ancestors’ suffocating

goddamn remains.

I left dry branches in place of my young bones.

I barely stopped to wonder how long

it would take for anyone to notice.

They could still perform over those cold twigs.

A diorama of exquisite grief.

 

I charged out into the shadows

carrying my huge heart safe

behind a clasp of ribs and two good breasts.

My ankles were thick and strong and my legs

ran to prove something.

I held nothing in my hands.

I cut my hair and grew.

I let my feet land tough and heavy.

I shoved fistfuls of poppies in my mouth

until my cheeks bulged. A black rose between my lips.

A crown of wild mushrooms.