Palimpsest

There is a woman
behind that crazy wall
of blue and pink graffiti.
Almost eclipsed
like a pale moon covered
in earth’s cold shadow.
She hides behind
the easy chair
set out for her
like an empty throne,
the only solid place
left for her to sit,
one more number
in an old formula
she’ll never solve.
Refusing to fit,
refusing to make peace
with all the arguments
against her
writing her over and over again
so bright and loud
she loses her face
under a blur of ink
and can’t find arms
to raise against
her cruel redefinition.