Miranda wanted some attention today, so I brought her forward.
She liked to have it both ways
solitary by day, free-roaming at night.
But sometimes the night
spilled into her high-buttoned days, a dark blot
spreading slowly but unmistakeably
across the page like menstrual blood
flowering across a surprised pair
of cotton panties. Those times
she remembered, with the sharpness of
a gulp of winter air, where she had come from
knowing the seductive way lived history
creeps back into today, unbidden.
September 22, 2008