A Woman's Sutra

Upon a sure lull rests a cheery mirror

lively with bliss in a few glimpses more

as if a dipper kissed the blue noon roof

 

each is a she in my mind

her on the left must be my favorite

they look down at the surface with 

such a lemony elation

and yes

each woman hangs her heavy head so low but 

they don’t need to face their father for a dance

 

while my gaze greets each stem 

my eyes slip down to their ankles and I catch the green 

drip onto the tabletop like a moth to its shining end

 

it’s soaked now

the table reeks of a buttery glaze 

tangerine jelly-filled melted bumblebees

weeping pistachios and poolside blonde 

sipping on clovers’ newborn giggles

 

their tint must be contagious

chocolate ponies leap after soupy valleys

still in their kind summer shrouds and dipping into 

the smudging lakes of coconut shells in there

 

where even my porcelain breakfast floats 

in flood spouts trickling from my 

runny sunflower ladies