Saturday, August 15, 2009


Her errant words hover over peaches
shining in their wooden bowl.
Sometimes she finds them
in her purse, crouched among coins,
crumpled between fives and twenties.
They love the jewel-box, ballerina
turning, plucking these words
brighter than garnets.
Once she unscrewed her lipstick
and found a few. When she
pinched them between her fingers,
they flew from her greed.
See them tumble to the floor:
a waterfall, a ruby spill of butterflies.

-Jennifer MacPherson