from In Vancouver, You Forgive the American

………………………………..…At a chaperoned dance in high school
the Econ teacher told your friend, Watch out for that one,
she’s like a bird set loose of its cage. Only, it wasn’t true, at all,
it took you years to wear a tank top with straps as thin

as seat belts, which, these days, you recognize is not a tank top
but a sleeveless blouse. You didn’t become a drunk, don’t sell or sleep
till noon. Tonight, you’d consider chocolate underwear in one tiny shop
and, at another, a Buddhist’s bracelet urging you to “Leap–”

You’re not tattooed, not breasty (of course, white chickens), and this man
would measure small as you against a stalk of corn. Your boyfriend grows
cucumbers on his veranda, weed in the closets, smiles too often
to scare you, is tall, lean, in love. Your therapist vows

you’re nutty but not insane. Therapy is free here. So is this show…

-from “In Vancouver, You Forgive the American” by Susanna Childress