Wildwood Grown Poem by Patti Masterman

If we were all found naturally at birth
To resemble the thing
We are best suited to do in this life
It would be odd indeed
To suppose myself with one giant eyeball
And two giant hands, shriveled up legs,
And fingertips that seeped India ink
Whenever I pressed them to any surface
Neck arched permanently for reading
With a thickened callous of iris
Instead of always looking for glasses
And it does scare me to suppose
What those women out in the back alleys
Would have in their derivative appearance-
IV ports made of hardened cuticle,
From many generations of drug injections?
That's as far as I'm letting my imagination go-
Except that I might have to stop eating honey.