I don’t know too much
About this new slow season of women
But I’m afraid I’m going to learn
Before I get a chance to catch my breath
The questions that roll over me
like the ocean rolling over an invisible whale
are likely to drown me before I get a chance to swim away
So much harm is done by
people who mean no harm
When this season passes
as seasons always do
there will be no brooms or shovels
capable of cleaning up the mess of me
nor flashy wads of cash
to bring back what’s left