I labored years
to weave
something of substance

but my threads were only
blades of dew-coated grass,
as breakable
as my heart.

The wind was moist
and heavy
on the nights I exhaled—

still,
you expected more of me.

I told you, I can offer you
only small nothings

but I will try
to make them speak.

Monica Beaujon is a twenty-year-old college student, majoring in English at the University of Wisconsin. In addition to writing, she loves hoop dancing and painting.  Her poetry has appeared, or is forthcoming, in the magazines Viewfinder and Lady.