My spine’s a stone walkway that leads me
to remembered and logical places. Still
I get lost. Ideas branch in too many directions,
distract me with red leaves and the weave
of thin twigs. I hold onto things for too long.
Every mistake an heirloom porcelain vase.
My spine’s a ladder rung with bones
that can hold my weight, if I leave a few
chipped habits and sorrows behind. I climb
down into a place of seeds and pale petals.
Roots show me how to take in and pass on,
Down here is where the story started.
The one I retold incorrectly for so many
years, forgot the details and main characters,
the plot that twisted like an old pebbled path.
I start over, relearn the fiction, how it all began.
- Jennifer Frank
Jennifer Frank was last week’s poet at the Church of Beethoven. She lives in Albuquerque.jennifer frank church of beethoven albuquerque poetry so many feelings quarter-life crisis just trying to be a boss but I have all these feelings bookish