In November,
she passed out smiles
like king-­sized candy bars
on Halloween. 
Her eyes sparkled
with the luster of a million diamonds and a hint
of shooting stars.
Her nose crinkled. In February,
her lips cracked,
the crystals in her eyes grew heavy and her eyes bled with albicant shards
of despair. She passed out smiles
like ten dollar bills
on the streets of Manhattan. In April, she wore her clothes inside out and forgot names like the words your aunt clattered into your ear
when you were half-­listening about school and boys and grades
and what the weather was like in sunny
San Francisco. Her lips peeled
and the golden tulips in her eyes wilted. 
The molten petals trailed behind her
like shining drops
that storms rain upon. She passed out smiles
like free cars on the side of the road. In June,
her lips turned blue
and her breath turned still and the garden in
her heart wilted into handwritten notes and
she became just like the rest of us. She couldn’t pass out smiles
with her heart gone and her chest rotting