A woman’s life is
what she make of it

Culling the yellow parsley
from the bunch,
I repeat my new mantra:
I know what to do.
I break the discarded
stalks in half.
So much of my life
is making compost,
I tell myself,
“The dreams that
don’t come true
are the compost
of our lives.”
Hoping to cull
the disappointment
from my soul.