It’s been the story of her life
Years prior the morning makeup routine
was the layout of the day’s wardrobe
There was the lunchbox
There was a sibling, sometimes four, clamoring for
precious little, duly shared space

First Valentine, the myriad teasing, and the
sheer overwhelm of it all
An event long given place to the repair invoice
uncovered items the salesman assured
were warranted as gold

Is this the line for butterflies
the last verse to conclude metamorphosis
Or one that speaks to its own irrelevancy as
the pattern on the kitchen floor