my mother’s jeans
I got complacent.
I let myself sit on the curb and cry,
smoke a whole pack,
sleep with the guy in the bar with the dark eyes watching me.
He left bruises and left me on the curb.
I let my ass get a little too big for my jeans and I cut my hair short.
I became soft like a woman for a minute, like my mother but
not like her; her jeans will always fit.