Like the creep of a slow river,
lava
in the periphery
waiting for Spring leaves.

Jeffrey, unzipping his pants in the foyer.

I spent hours here.

Listening to Art.
Listening to Life.

Toxic, messy, uncomfortable to watch.
Young girls hanging
their worth on an aria.

One providing an eye.
One providing an ear.

Until this rocky world becomes warmer & wetter.

My daughter’s ice cream beginning to melt,
a park bench.
One she’ll later paint - half tears,
half frothed vanilla latte.

Jeffrey, unzipping his pants in the garden.

My daughter, one green apple with a side
of romaine, no dressing.

Whose food are you eating?

Years later, a mother shifts in
her skin,
regret bleeding like fruit seeds.

Sheree La Puma is an award-winning writer whose work has appeared in The Penn Review, Redivider, Sugar House Review, The Maine Review, The Lascaux Review, Stand Magazine, Rust + Moth, Mantis, and Catamaran Literary Reader, among others. She earned her MFA in writing from CalArts. Her poetry has been nominated for Best of The Net and three Pushcarts. A reader for the Orange Blossom Review, her latest chapbook, Broken: Do Not Use is currently available at Main Street Rag Publishing. www.shereelapuma.com.