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.