she stared into her soup
it had been a long time
since clarity was her pal
when she was young
so sure of every day
mistakes no big deal
she laughed them off
knowing she would never
make the same one twice

except for a few bad ends
decisiveness delivered her
twisted her out of tangles
catapulted her pronto from
nests of miscalculations
the human cannonball solution
to slimy claws reaching
to lock on to your ankles

yet today she sat with time
stuck hard to a chair
staring at lukewarm soup
she drifted back to a summer
when she flew across the ocean
32 years old in tight red pants
fire-engine-red patent leather
high-heeled sandals
her suntanned shoulders
draped in the soft thick cream
of a backless cotton tee
she was light on her shiny painted toes
brimming with what could be
and now she was out of salt
barefoot, wingless
no longer hungry
shipwrecked in soup