Cut Grass

Floating on hypnotics,

she felt her world narrow

to dandelion, allowed

the wailing chair beside her

drip dry and brown.


He took her hand and

whispered – It’s going to be

noisy a little while,

and left to mow the lawn.

I love the smell of cut grass,


she replied to God.

Light as feathered seed,

she opened a hand over

the meadow of a thigh,

softly, cast off her room.

What are you looking for?