I am not resilient.
Not by definition.

I do not bounce or boomerang.

I used to.
Years ago, when everything from my curls, to my step, bounced.
Drag me through the mud, to a dark place I’d never been?
A diet coke, a viewing of Gone with the Wind, a new skirt
I’d be shiny and new, boomerang.

The smart, the useful, the desired resume their original shape
in an instant.

My elasticity has snapped.
I’ve distorted into the loathed one who does not spring back.
I am not resilient.
I am here, reprogramming, rewriting as fast as I can.

I now require softer touches, longer naps.
And, isn’t there a beauty in this slowing?
I’ve quit bouncing, long enough to see that your love
is resilient.


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