Posted by writergrll on December 22nd, 2005 under Poetry
Whenever you get there, she sits on her bench
surrounded by a shopping cart and black garbage bag
filled with acorns, eucalyptus leaves, her flesh-colored bandages—
whatever she finds gets stuffed into a hotch-potch pot,
water bottles thrown at her feet after a three-mile run—
she always dyes her hair red and bleaches her teeth in the sun
