Comments 4

A mean 7/30


I am made of blue paint,
All of me, different shades.

My hair, waves of the Gulf
Of Mexico. My eyes are coconuts.

My blood is orange juice the color
Of blueberries. I have wings

That no one can see except for me—
They’re a sad blue. They droop—

They’ve almost lost their shimmer.
Each day I become thinner because

I’m wasting away. Each time I see
A baby I can’t eat until the next time

I wake up. I think mothers are lucky
Because they get to be green. Their cells

Scream of life. They help others thrive.
They are jungles of love where

I am a desert of empty. I am the dunes
Before the water of the beach,

Blowing all over, no point,
Just riding the wind.

My skin is dry beneath the harsh light
Of a Florida sun. One day if I have a son

Or a daughter they can teach me
To not be so blue.

A. Roy, Blue Woman

A. Roy, Blue Woman

To Covet

The dining area of Whole Foods
Broke me today. The other people
Eating must have thought we broke up.

We sat across from each other,
One moment all words, silly jokes,
The next my face was all rain.

At the other end of the room,
Eyes holding mine at gunpoint,
A baby in his mother’s arms using

All his weapons. She had him
Dressed in camo—
Camo jacket, camo blanket,

Camo sneakers on his feet
I so wanted to touch—
I thought that if he were mine

I would never make him wear
Such ugly clothes—he would not hunt
Ducks and the only war he’d ever know

Is the silent one he fights with me now.
Every woman who walked by had to stop
And exclaim at all his amazing—

How well-behaved, how cute,
What a stylish mohawk. Two
Of the women took him

In their arms. He did not protest.
I wanted to go over but my face
Was already a mess and if I had

I’m sure I would have seemed crazy—
I had no small-talk for his mother.
I just wanted her baby.

This entry was posted in: poetry


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