Empty Notebook

Sleep will not ease
My tired body
Food can not sustain
This emaciated form

I unpack my organs
from this picnic basket lunch
And lay in the sun
As ants march over
The mountain of my liver
And crawl inside to get a snack

These bones will not wait
to grow old with me
Impatience precedes flattery

The warm breeze imparts
the fragrance of
The sunning lavender stalks
Which lean together into the breeze
As sisters

Where is my brother?
Why has my father denied me my strength?
My spine screams.

Twisting beyond myself
I question all that has come to me
and all that has left.

Dawn to dusk;
twilight to starlight
The sun offers solace
But I am blinded by its radiance

The stars reach out to me;
Their arms could never reach
Deep enough inside me to spark
The flint of my hopes

They say to follow your dreams, but
I got lost somewhere between the dirt roads
And the closed door that replaces my eyelids

So I tumble down upon this blanket
Surrounded by that which gives me life
Waiting for it to be mine again
Once everyone else is done with it

The willow trees wink at me
and sigh with empathy.

Impatiently, I grab the corners
of my picnic blanket and tie them together
With the basket,
and the ants,
and my innards inside
And politely tuck it inside myself,
wiping my hands on my skirt.

I trip over my eyes
And feel grateful
for such a delicious lunch.