Because the first flower was white.
Because they are ancient birds. Because
their arms pull comets from the sky.
Because dancing is celestial business.
She had lank hair, was not underfed, but still bony
—wore scuffed shoes, a homemade dress—a plum
colored taffeta all the mothers said was unsuited
for school. And, she didn’t like her name.
This drama, borne on jittery air,
is like a jack-in-the-pulpit exploding
in early spring, that abruptly retreats,
the fleshy stalk shriveling by summer.
You ask what passage will I choose?
Jeanine Stevens raised in Indiana. Currently living in Northern California. Graduate degrees in Anthropology and Education. Poems have appeared in The Suisun Valley Review, Poesy, Alehouse, The Tule Review, Poetry Depth Quarterly, South Dakota Review, Ruah, Wavelength, Timber Creek Review, Bardsong, Pegasus, and Valparaiso Review, among others.