Flip a skirt hem and you have a lip
to cradle tomatoes or questions
or a bit of weather, make-do wings
for the wrangling of life’s loose change,
which is to say I lied
about calling a truce. Enough with locks
and keys. We each need more pockets
to hide those broken parts
of ourselves to be shared only
under a moonless sky. What I bared
and what I bore were twice the dare
I could afford. With you my knees
were forever hinged in remorse
and ecstasy. Water flows down
the easiest path. Icarus
could have fashioned himself a raft,
but who lunges for the sun dreaming
of caution? You could call me
abandoned or merely shipwrecked
on a fickle shore. Here I am
gilding my store of feathers, courting
lost oarsmen and begging
for a storm.

– Sandra Yee