In This World
In this world, gene-spliced tomatoes stay red on the shelf
week
after week. Her life moves too quickly.
She
feels like a failed experiment. All her
white
laundry
turns purple with one sock.
This
world is full of styrofoam, and yet things break.
She
worries because each life is fragile.
It is impossible to find
curses
that are strong enough. She wants to
buy clothing
for
each new season. She wants to celebrate
spring.
Her
cave-dwelling ancestors were not prepared for this world,
and
neither is she. Her mail box is full of
committee
agendas
and proxy cards; she is drowning in democracy.
In
this world, seasons are imposed on her, always too early.
She
is stymied by the breakdown of small appliances.
At
night, she cannot remember her morning.
She fears
she
will never be strong enough. She knows
anyone
shivering
outside before dawn will believe in the Sun.
No
one told her she would need courage.
She is discovering
the
land of her body. She says, "I
must become strong
for
moments that seem insignificant."
She says,
"Today
I give the sunset my full attention."
Eve Sutton