If only contentment could be gathered
in willow baskets,
and futures freshened in sunlight
Forevers, elude her.
She fastens right now to her chest
with rhinestone pendant and zircon clasp
and visits maybe, too often,
accepting vulgar kisses from greedy men
She wears desperation on furrowed brow,
and stagnation in her pocket, alongside bits of lint
and torn juicy fruit.
She borrows dreams from romance novels
collects happy endings from fairy tales
Stores them in a cedar chest
beside antique doilies, pressed violets
and an ivory wedding dress, two sizes too small