Like a Butterfly

I was the fat lady dressed
Like a bumble bee in my warm
Up clothes, front row
At the gym, where I threw
Hooks so fast they nearly nailed
The mirror. I have always been my own
Enemy, and though I do not look
Myself in the eye, I know how to land
A punishing blow or two. I float
Under the weight of my own worried mind
And sting at thoughts that hover there.

Ali, where have you gone? I need a man
To write my name on the mattress and stand
Up for me, or beside, to carve my name
Against the fierce dark night, to cheer
When I am down for the count
Laid low and bloody by the everyday
Opponents of this life.

Author: Janice

A creative. Lifelong Marylander. After many odd jobs of adolescence and college, have always worked as a writer and published essays, op-eds, articles, and poetry in national news media and small presses. Collection of poetry, "Saturday at the Gym", about boxing, aging, and motherhood; collection of artwork and poetry, "What Are Mothers For?" On the verge of an empty nest for the first time in 30 years, my question is: What am I for? View all posts by Janice