by Jennifer Smith

but I wasn’t
the red bull of the setting sun,

the green dragon
bearded with age,

singed gold plating his scales,
the harpy, the gorgon

the maenad, or sphinx
asking for your love through death

turned to stone, bare bones
slips of skin left around,

just a girl who said too much
styled in smiles,

willing to do
a million favors.

I might as well have been
tsunami, avalanche,

earthquake or hurricane,
might as well have been

the crow at your window,
old shuck, banshee,

corpse light or ticking beetle,
for all you seemed to think

affliction followed in my step,
consumption, plague

black death, ring around
the rosy blush in my cheek

blooming to say your name
or kiss your face.

*Photo courtesy Mark Ou.