cruel time

she tells
you on the phone
from California
where you can
almost hear the
pacific ocean
crash blue
against the shore,
and smell the oranges
falling from
the trees
in the valley,
she tells you
that she is
having
surgery on her
arms.
she wants them
lean again,
so they need to
be trimmed away,
to filet
the wrinkled
selvage acquired
by cruel time
and age.
I want younger
arms she says.
last year
it was my neck,
my nose, my cheek
bones.
so the arms
are overdue.
i'll send you a
photo when
they're healed
and right.
pray for me, she
says. pray for me.
I already am, you
tell her.
I already am.