Wooing Her Back

By Nan Hardt

my spirit is unruly, leaves me in a ditch.
yesterday morning she came traipsing back, that stinkin’ lousy…
rumbling loud, she slaps me, sits down, has a laugh.
years ago she shrunk so small, flipped out, left me in half.

formerly she was a wild cub, she didn’t know i needed her.
when i shunned her hard, she didn’t look back,

she didn’t give a shit either.

she never had a mother, she smokes, drinks, she’s crude,
she hates to cry, can’t stand grief, at celebrations she’s rude.
don’t invite her to your party, unless you want some hot cops.
she will use your walls to twerk, boom boom, until the music stops.

to live without a spirit means housing a lumpy throat.
the world is dry, silent,
nothing to do but cough, choke it down, bloat.
when the spirit has left the body, all kinds of trouble comes.
hollow insides, empty eyes, just leftover crumbs.

i invite her to come in, then beg, then cry, then plead…
she’s a pirate, a witch, a freak, she has no time for me.
she will never be tame i notice, as i watch her sharpen her claws.
do i resign to host the wicked, never again tell her she got flaws?

she dances naked, demands free reign,
always without guilt, never prancing in shame.
treaty confirmed with a giggle of glee.
we’ve already found mischief; the girl is free.

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