In the square they point me out:
There she goes, they say, it’s the artichoke lady.
They think I got that name because I dress in green
and wear my love locks all a-tangle,
letting them trail like ivy down my back.
My heart was an oyster, brating in its cloistered bed of joy;
it held a pearl, a perfect opalescent speck within the sea.
A cortex came, and pluck from depths no man
has seen, my Aztec heart carving it into a steaming stew.
The mist rose from the desert and in the sand a helmet lay,
spoils of war.
Now my heart is an artichoke, clothed in steel