There are no boyfriends here—no leaps
of faith taken. Here, we drape ourselves
in lace, bodies bare. We have graduated
from polished spaces and agreed. Pink walls
do not make a woman country.
Here, there is no one to stop the grass
from rising above our ankles, to wipe away
the dirt that gathers in the creases of our eyelids
while we sleep. Swimmers lament
the parched earth we inhabit and we roll
our eyes at their slender torsos. Ribs
do not protrude here. Beauty is a concept
created by men so there is no beauty
here, only survival.
Scott Hicks has work published in Contemporary Haibun Online, Road Not Taken, Poetry Quarterly, Three Line Poetry, Modern Haiku, Shot Glass, Liquid Imagination, and Down in the Dirt. He came to poetry through therapy and lives in Fresno, California.