National Poetry Month: “The Longshot”

The first woman ever made, 
walked into the hippodrome, 
counterclockwise, her jet arms
paying homage to the great 
sunflower field of mothers 
she had left behind, scenic hips 
reminiscent of old bougainvillea 
forests pushed into the thin
bourbon air, fern and piney
lashes reminded the crowd of
what cherry blossoms used to be, 
a wide half-moon protractor with
mint and yam cabochon berries
bounced against the back of her 
neck, she waved, she had crossed 
spitting amber volcanoes & gardens 
of Gulliver liars to get there, 
the long shot had arrived, Indubitably, 
the only word anyone could decipher 
on her passport.