Junk Drawer

Drawers of a memory’s bones,

sea shell geodes, sparkling, but not for us,

and certainly not to please you.

A well oiled rainbow dancing up a horses woven neck,

trying to dig to you, dig to find treasures,

to rebury parts of her for you to find along your path.

Furred minerals, waxy skinned rocks,

carve flesh away to strip-mine her hurts.

Stroke the pet sphinx till she purrs you truths,

and remember,

she used to be a little girl, too.

Now she’s made of plastic pony bodies, nylon hair,

diary pages and vellum wings.

She’ll claw at you and dig, burrow in your chest,

lock herself in your linty drawers,

swallow the key and scrape at your walls

with nails of opal and cheap glitter.

You’ve grown lean and the edges you seek are now in your own face,

sharpened by acetone winds.