who expertly sharpened her kitchen knives
        until the blue sparks flew like stars around her head.
        She said: "I will slice the invasive sunlight
        that dares to tread with the footfall of a dinosaur
        through my dining room window or upon the transparent
        cheesecloth of my kitchen table. I will serve that light
        upon a blue plate of pansies with extra culinary dreams.
        I will persuade water man who comes to my back door
        with seductive whispers, so original, that he will be
        unable to resist joining me in a casserole of hay."
        There is quiet determination stored in that house
        in the suburb of her heart; a natural blue falls
        like a careless negligee around her feet.

Copyright © Herbert Woodward Martin, 2003.  All Rights Reserved.