ETIOLATED

PARALLEL

the X-ACTO knife i stole
from my father's ancient tool box
and stashed in the drawer by my bed
with my mother's needle and thread
to stitch myself together
i sewed strings of scarlet beads
the tomorite in our shed
which blossomed into cardinal carnations
and cultivated a crimson-blotched conservatory
upon the very skin where i bled
i seam not parallel, never parallel

i'm far too petty and angry for parallel.