we are four:
four pairs of feet, the
occasional callous or blister
where one sits
on the sidewalk of her watch
watching it all
the gravel skidding,
tires, eroding.
one stands
up for her rights like
her boss man told her not to and
another stands
o she stands, with fists pumping
legs burning
a fire building
behind the bricks of what she sees;
one screams
with a wide pink tongue,
profligating the word of the future
the words found hidden
in bread crusts,
in dust crumbs
in wainscoting, job hunts.
I cut off all their crusts today
garnished the air with them
tried to drown it in beschamel
and whisked the dried skin away,
watching it fall
onto the shoulders of my sweater,
into the pan of melted butter and rue.
