Deportment for Sadie

“I am always
thin and proper,
collecting henpecked men
in a little cup that I keep
in my pocket.
My friends are mandolins and gondoliers;
they lead me by my forearms
where my freckles arrange themselves
into a design like a kitchen set;
pumpkins and onions,
apple and radishes in a cornucopia.
They lift my hair from my neck to reveal
where its chocolate strands wander off
bewilderedly into skin.

My guardians are an uncle with a
greengrocer's visor, an aunt of great stature
and their two full grown sons.
They say, “Sadie, where did that
bruise come from?” I hardly know.
I skin my knees when I walk
too fast, bruise my shins, knock over
china plates and juice that stains, so I
stand quite still, pretending the world is
a convent I will be sent from
if I do not behave.”