Transubstantiation             On her wedding day in 1821, Charlotte Freeman was eager to feel grown

my heart is a turnipgrown to an absurd extenta rutabaga wrested from the groundwith undue influencedried

Every Christmas, come ghost stories,come cocoa-powder, come rough childrenrolling down hills, out of bodies, come bodiesrolling

Denise waddles down the hallway to her creative writing class like a brown Mrs. Pac-Man, struggling

Ours are the quiet hours when I reach for a coffee handed over  my shoulder. Minds

What lies in a dream Still remains to be seen As I lay in bed Still

~after Belle Waring I’m trapped under a pontoon  drowning in a Disney Princess swimsuit like when

Not to be dramatic,But God sent me something problematicA weight equal to the world is on