Oh No She Didn't But Then She Did
       

I told that lady she had two of the same baby.
I told the same story to identical ponds, no luck.

Perhaps one was a reflection, or built of letters.
I swam across my favorite man-made lake.

It was no ordinary container. Between burned
storefronts, a house of boxes. Not sure if boxes

had bloomed from the fire, like depression glass.
Perhaps I was only seeing double. I had two

eyes, but one baby ran east, and so did the other,
only not quite as quickly. In times of tragedy

I threaten to go back from whence I came.
Perhaps that's a reincarnation. They outlawed

all quinces in Quincy, Illinois, but I never lived
there. The suburbs always assaulted me like kids

on a parachute. I decided to bury everything I had.
Everything I had was somewhere underwater.

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Copyright © 2012 Mary Biddinger All rights reserved
from Bone Bouquet
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission