She was a condemned tenement building
–all crumbling facades, erratic wiring, shaky foundation–
but of course no, she was just a human, a woman,
in whom many cells were born, divided, mutated and died

She was not she, not really, she was cells, all so very alive.

Rushing up the scaffolding of bone,
the choicest among them converged in her brain,
elbowing their way to the crown of her head
wanting a view of the world and to be queen for a day.

She was not cells, not really, so she pushed them aside.