Poetry Unsalted

To be a poet: She was told to sit on the faded red chair (but it was honey she wanted) With the gray exchange of leather that dated back to 1960. It was a political nonescape phase. She was already broken at the age of two. And told—obey the maze So you aren’t cut while they check your eligibility (but it was honey she wanted) Broken from the womb of folded mirrors. But it was too late to drop pennies into the well. All she wanted was to stop the tease of loneliness. Her mother never smiled Mayb