things of beauty please the eye
paperweights & polished blocks of lapis & malachite
a small crystal vase with silk roses—pink
my favorite, though i don’t care for fake flowers
this place isn’t for me
he puts a silver giraffe in my hand
because i grew tall early
& the teasing i took fell like black rain
dust motes float in angled light
no rain here
what does he want, this
curator of his own cluttered greed?
i put the giraffe next to a porcelain girl
in a wide skirt—my skirt, & she didn’t
ask to borrow it
so much taking in the world
yet here’s this man, pressing something
else on me, a smooth stone
he calls blue obsidian
more inspiring than any other color, he says
it can lift & fill the sky
just like you