Joyce
  Joyce                     had stumbled by, and saw her sitting, as she had,
for hours, her eyes cleansed and red and scoured
and empty...
That was a man. Again. Mary                     Saw her wrestling and choosing the corpse over the tears and living
on drugs for years with so many
children... Sandy                   Saw her skipping bravely ever bravely, minding her own attacks, separating love from love
like dirt from rice and seeing it all
stick together and settle
in the corner of her breast when she was
terrified on the freeway...
That was a man. Me                         Saw myself. Saw you. Saw years and years just pass.
Like these viral days...
  ca.1989

© Barbara Bales 1987-2002 all rights reserved

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