by Anna Evans
The year I nearly died I understood
I was a crystal glass upon a ledge
above a stone hearth, and that being good
would not prevent me tumbling off the edge
by chance—the sudden breeze from a slammed door,
a freak earthquake, or someone’s careless knock.
And so I changed my life, becoming more
about the present, tuned to my body’s clock.
The Church does not approve of me—its strictures
confine my spirit, though I’m honest, kind.
But I’m the girl who’ll send you dirty pictures;
I am the one who does what’s on her mind,
and won’t call nudity or sex a sin
when paradise is not the state we’re in.