Who wanted to climb the tree
was the same person who rode
her bicycle on petals, fallen on
the sidewalk like a garden
without soil, without dirt.
She did need you, the front door
left open, she thought she heard
a knock. It was yesterday.
The corner store. A juke box
playing Mexican music. Men
bellied up to a bar. Three
Hispanic boys making fun of her
bike, the petals of the cherry blossom
like tiny tears, a carpetful.
On the white plate, a red onion.
A basketful of lemons and garlic.
She washes the dishes in hot
water, feels the heat in her pores.
Who makes the time go by faster?
The minute-hand moves so slow.
If she could, she’d take the clock
off the wall and crush it with
the meat hammer. When the glass
shattered, she’d save the pieces
to try to glue it back together.
OR she’d sweep up the pieces
she’d leave the pieces.
she’d take the broom and break it.