Daddy says nothing�s ever the same
the second time around,
but here�s number three
so maybe this time will be like the last.

Last time I took this walk down tutored streets,
I gave her wild flowers and she gave me kisses
and ducks quacked happy and in love,
but I can�t remember the last time
I was in love
or felt in love
because love feels so many miles behind
this place where life has stalled.

The second time the lady from Trinidad
put my plate in the oven
it melted.
She turned to me and said it was the devil,
she showed me the face on the plate I had drawn,
how it had distorted into something evil
that in a repeated action lashed out.

Memory has a funny way of forgetting herself
then repeating herself,
but nothing is ever as pristine as she recounts,
either her mistakes or nature�s restless nature
make purity impossible to obtain.

The flowers this year aren�t as many as they were
when I planted for her,
the stalks are stronger though,
now that I�m planting for someone who
up and left me,
and I�m paying all my attention
to the cucumbers to win my flower girl back.

I miss the magic I used to have,
the stuff that made me forget myself,
and even though it�s never the same
I always want to try it again.