“Forty-Six” by Kris McHaddad

See how it stands
so stubbornly
on only one leg,
a delicately poised
flamingo of the palest pink,
a square having just now
climbed out of itself,
balancing its body
of straight lines
and sharp angles
an open container:
a wide-mouthed candy jar,
open hands,
an open heart.
And then, at its side,
the line beginning at no particular point,
moving down and around, circling in on itself,
one smooth continuous curve,
a frame for a mirror
of self-reflection,
a womb,
a fertile garden
bright with peonies.



Kris McHaddad lives in Leona Valley, California where she teaches the first grade. Her poetry has been widely published.