WILLA SMART
my story
my life’s little plot demanded more plot
divorced i spied i jogged by this woman
my same age or older or gladder some
what blonde i bleached i said i was from here
too she was pleased i found this place i knew
it was real even now it was also
real it was real i amused each who would
appear and whoever does is pleased with
me for where we crossed what was all rock
comes apart in two pieces where i touched
it i’m amused at the poem that appears
on the ground for it is not mine this deep
voice her huge present i didn’t do wrong
during the six weeks of the crisis i didn’t
do poppers tho once i did it didn’t satisfy
i divorced i dreamt i drifted up to the pools
they’re full i felt we’re not on yet on the farm
i flicked the bee i thought was dead it flew
and yet the others were or so i thought
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my story
accounts weren’t kept i pass i was made to pass
through a small tube a pipe the sun brought wind in
bed i yelled i yelped it didn’t do my mom was near
i couldn’t speak i ate a cake of pink i did
not need this bread i need its milk i lay
for many years atop the bunk so sorely
missed was i they thought no more the right
ness of their thought that went the world no
more won’t have its fun sung in reverse it
won’t have fun you should if you had liked
it put a ring through which i would have passed
with ease though not with peace i screamed
i scrambled worked they weren’t impressed
i did as i was told which was to write
after another one had writ the form
of verbs that passed that said what
i had done outside the home the stable
core the horse’s hole i meant her hair
where it would part my voice fell
flat so long as i would lay it failed
to flame the cord would burn i slept
i spilt i split and still it burnt it borne
a babe i didn’t have and now i did
i held her well while she had slept she
cried i heard i didn’t hear i still approached
i flirt i flicked i formed the word i was the worm
the sun was spilt upon the sheet the stain
was fun and one was food i wouldn’t lift
i wasn’t brave as some would say i did
though want a lighter hue on which would
fall and which i felt each hair not mine
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Willa Smart was born in Idaho and is the author of numerous fantasies, insofar as one can claim to be the author of her own fantasies.