Two Poems (Dear Saint Theresa)

after Merrill Moore

Same day: shower

I decided—derided

to be the good enough

Me. There’s no thing

Better than being good

enough. I pat

Myself on back, girl

in mirror saw me, as I

had my big realization, naked,

we consummated

Something there. In the image

of the eye, we saw anew:

Image. It seeks a spot

to image itself whole. I like

when I use image as a verb

and someone I hate doesn’t

know the possibility of

its verbiage. Herbs, girls,

Everything is coming

together fast. Spring

is fast. The spring time

wants you—better. And harder

to get better when you. And hard

to get better. And hard.