Sweet Potato Haircut

Spring Morning in May

while the sun sparkles in the
young, freshly leafed trees,
and the wind blows the
tinder of pollen and fragrance
into my upturned face
(igniting an explosive sneeze),
while the big black boring
carpenter bees buzz thickly
through the air in search
of dead wood to drill
and the voices from inside
inhabit the morning with
gentle aliveness and action,

Distractions

I feel the weight of my belly
pushing against
my shorts, I feel the excess
of my chest rendering me
woman and ashamed
some days.
I notice the burdens
of thinking that keep me
from joining in the sway
of the bright and breezy day,
like my friend on the road toward
far away, how many times
will I see her again in this lifetime?
and the storage closet of my room needs
attention and
the nervous breakdown of our childhood
friend, and how unfamiliar I am
in my mirror
when in truth I am the most necessary person
to get to know.

While the sun sparkles in the
young, freshly leafed trees
I remind myself to please,
come home.