we are only earth’s skin cells. she, she was made from crumbles
of rosy sandstone and he, he must be flakings of soft
shale. you, you were drawn up from the dark
Midwest loam, and i, i from your fossiled rib.
pressing through the fluorescent halls you do not notice
the lingering glances from the eyes of the other women.
but when you burst through a bathroom door and see
(for no human can walk by a mirror and not look)
the dark contrite crease on your brow, you slow
down. you remember
that you are dust. and to dust you shall return.
and they know it, too.
Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.