Grimm Reality

Grimm Reality

Once upon a time there was a girl.
She wore hiphuggers and halters.
The boys whistled at her from their cars

and drove slowly down the streets
as she walked on. Her beauty became
the thorn in the proverbial paw.

I am confusing characters now. and mix-
ing metaphors. The mouse, not the boys,

aided the mighty king of beasts (a male)
by removing the proverbial thorn (unbeauty).
There was no mention of a lioness, and had

there been, she probably didn't wear halter
tops. But I am digresssssssssssing, I fear.
I was thinking about girls and youth and our

mother's gardens which harbor secrets
and are largely bereft of leggy young women
catcalling boys helpful mice and wounded

lions. Those characters were dreams.

Back to the garden. The garden I found
in my mother's closet. Adam and Eve
leaves to cover the beauty. Leaves to cover.

Leaves that fall every year and cover
beauty. Leaves that are beautiful. Leaves
whose leaving signifies death's coming.

But I digress again. My mother's closet.
My father's death. My inability to stay
rational long enough to think things through.

Through is just a word. Through is not
always through, though. It may be a passage.
It may be a destination.

It may be simply and all alone
a word. Simple simplicity. Double duplicity.

I am not through. I am somewhere in between
through and though. R dropped and justly
so. I am though. And wanting to be drunk.

And the keys
don't care and my fingers can still play

and tonight there are meteor showers
I planned to watch and may still, though
I may be out there to lose the spirits,

my face intently leaning toward the ground.
Through it all, however, I think I shall

still be asking, though, why I am and why am I.