Because You Ask
to hell with the clichés
of crisis, the gift-
in-disguise, grist-
for-the-mill treacle
with grit, composure,
other people’s notions
can’t they see
the sky’s on fire?
I want to scream
the moon out of its orbit
bash my fist
down fate’s throat
this isn’t the time
for sherry and marzipan
served on white
linen tablecloths
besides, I threw away
the painted smile
i used to carry
in my pocket
for the others
the ones who prefer
plastic flowers
that never need
sunshine or water
anyway, they ran off
when the ground started to melt
but I’ll tell you a secret
because you ask
how I am
as if you want
to know
sometimes, like when
I listen to billie
sing “Autumn In New York”
her voice raw and ragged
or glimpse a hawk
above the hill—
wed to the wind
I remember
it’s all grace
in this untidy
extravagant moment
called life
I tell you because
you ask how i am
as if you want
to know
©Lucy Aron, 2003
