Divorcee

In her French garden, my cousin Marie
shares beefsteak tomatoes and her heart:
a patchwork of restitched soul.

Each seam a lesson from life,
Kevlar hemmed in the folds.
Tougher, not hardened.

She stretches out on her plastic
patio chair. Savours every grain
of sea salt on her tomatoes.

Feels late evening sun warm
the blood in her fingers, at ease
with herself and the world.

Knows the answer to every
question is A, B or C. Settles
wars before they begin.

(Anyone who knows what to do in a crisis
has probably been through a few.)

No need to search the globe
or her mind to find herself.
She’s right here.

Taken from the collection Biceps, published 2020 on Burning Eye Books.