Topsy Turvy

Her heart is a little skewed –

a few degrees removed from the level,

a few fruits short of plumb.

She has viewed her world

from lopsided stance

for long enough

she is tempted to name it Normal.


Normal is just a word

on the dial of her dishwasher;

she is learning to

allow it to wash her dishes

and not define her parameters,

 dictate her actions

or set her policies.

Then, she wished on every shooting star

and every birthday candle

for Normal to arrive –

today she knows

Normal is best left to the appliances.

If it dropped in her lap,

she wouldn’t really know what to do with it, anyway.

She grins crookedly at Life

and blooms with the tenacity

only bestowed

on those who embrace