& bells on my ankles
turning & turning & turning
with abandon until my brain
can't keep up with my body.
I will spend my days outside, drawing,
charcoal adorning my hands like smudged henna patterns
while the sun warms my bones
& the scent of spiderwort & belladonna tickle my nares.
I will let my leg hairs grow wild,
feel the breeze gently move them
like the blades of sedge in a Midwest prairie.
I will rip my clothes
& tear my knees,
skip in the rain,
my mascara painting my face
in primitive design.
I will wail to the depths of my marrow in grief
& sing loudly in praise of joy in my off-key garble
holding a note until my chest heaves from its concavity.
