Portrait of the Only Child as Bad Penny
The therapist listens to my autobiography and says
you are very resilient. Let me live up to that. The zodiac
gives me a poisonous tail and a hole in the ground
to keep my soft insides soft—let me be
as formidable, as balanced as all that. A bad tattoo
of a good idea: serpent destroying herself
back to life, let me satellite my head a little
to drink up one last punchline, a final squawk.
In deep winter, let me be the squirrel scrambling
up the jack pine and the snow sparkling down as it tries.
Give me a chance to come back again, weed that looks
like a flower that looks like a weed, insisting between
the brick pavers: I belong. Let me be the bad penny,
bronzed to oblivion, just north of worthless, tossed
on a nightstand. God, rid me of this loneliness. Multiply
me. Give me as much of myself as you can.
źródło: Read A Little Poetry
10.09.2026