THE OTHER WOMAN
The day I won the Pulitzer Prize
the vegetable man in the market knows --
another woman won a bicycle.
It seems all his customers are lucky.
I see her flying down our mountain
in Brazil, in a fine yellow dress,
her long yellow scarf
riding the draft behind her.
Behind her, someone or
something is chasing her.
Her demon? Her asthma?
The things she’s left undone?
She races ahead –
like I raced down our hill to tell you that day.
Finding no one at home, and nothing
but Oreos in your kitchen,
I ate two in celebration,
thinking of the vegetable man’s
other lucky, winners.
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