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Woman Warrior

(this may be finished…not sure)

She gave herself to me in small piles.

Most polished women are held together with glue.

sorting through her pages,

I made paper angels from her pain.

I folded her hands into paper airplanes

And watched her smirk

as I tried to figure out the rest.

I left love notes on her senile recollections

but she didn’t recognize the writing

--she didn’t understand the language.

She is transparent
and her strength
is so full of fear.

I tried untangling her,
but  she is all rebel with no heart.

Her arms are full of wars and scars.

Memories in tattoos

She speaks in violence

Her tears are fists and screams

Her words are

catastrophic,

--graffiti’d with mute charm

but they become

sweet nectar to fools in blind folds.

In the mirror

She sees a flower

delicate

illuminating all kinds of colors,

even blues.

She is not a puzzle.

She is shattered--

and I can't
put her back together.

C.L. Jones