Down
down
I fell once again
into an internet world basket
reading and watching
no good news to be found
seeping into the heart
free housing in the brain
rotting the gut
muddling my vision
the stink of the sniff
its bitter swallow
My Precious Zine (and Sticker) Haul
doesn’t have a permanent spot in my home.
They hang from my bedroom doorknob
in a purse I sewed myself, white with
dark grey green teal thin curly flowers with bright sky blue dots for petals.
I wonder if the coffee stain will ever come out,
the size of a baby mouse footprint,
one on each side.
I wonder if it looks more DIY that way.
I met a woman
who has loved
and lost
who outnumbers me
in forehead trenches
and belly laughs
who tended to her filleted
heart to find it still
opens and closes
who woke up to a husband
who misplaced the beauty
of her body
who looks at rivers
forming on my face
and tells me
it will be
ok
I thread climbing vines through my metatarsals,
spearing center foot, push the rose needle’s
green eye, stitch skeleton, tie myself together,
crown of thorns haloing my skull in the sweet mud.
They are horns, this is the fruit of my forked tongue.
I was sleeping viper, never gentle baby, always
not quite human. Something a little vicious,
something so very precious. Brain unfolding violence,
pink and fragrant, first bud open of the season.
See my regrowth from the conquest, sun-poisoned
by your care. God generous and wholly vacant,
watch me wick the wind up as you stare.
Two ladies
Working at the gas station
Are looking out the window
Ooh gurl!
He’s here!
No hat today?
The other lady
He happens to drive a donut truck
They are. Just. Mesmerized.
O, the conversation.
I have to say something
Yeah—I see why.
They say right?!
I see beautiful when I see it.
He comes in to pay for his purchase
But there’s already fuel
For everyone’s tank.
Beauty is beauty.
It doesn’t need to be meant for me.
I saw him crawling by the old court house,
bigger than I thought they’d be
the dark evening blended with his coat
but streetlights care not for stealth.
I had heard tales of their tails but
even after handling every size possom
the lankiness of it
the missing curl, and quick intelligence
surprised me,
as he turned over every bit of refuse for sustence.
my brother had a pet one once on the farm,
Playful, tender, knowing Bec
the camping blanket still
has her burrowing holes, 3 years of memories.
There was none in this Vagrant.
My mother’s stories growing up off Byran Station
and seeing claws and teeth being exchanged with cats
Now carry greater levity as he sleuthed on by.
He paused; looked back, nose twitching,
Myself and Partner holding still as he guaged:
to assert his domain
to demand fealty
to take a tithe from these interlopers
to see if a slice of Goodfellas might appear…
Alas we were not worth more than that glance,
further into the bushes he quested out of sight.
Carry on Rat King of Lexington, this country mouse
has no desire to meet again.
but it’s nice to know who is going to be there to pick you up.
Father,
you have led me to the peak
of a mountain where the air
is streaked with red-orange sun,
and pointed with your blue wing
to all the other mountains
whose names I have known
but never imagined within reach.
Please teach me one more time,
Father, not only how to glide to each
and work my way to their icy tops,
but how to first make a hole
in the snow beneath my feet,
how to kneel under the hard sky
and take as many deep crisp breaths
as I need to fill my belly
as I scratch our name by my toes.
Blooming June:
i’m fascinated by celestial movement
that i can know at 10:47 on august 2, 2027
the moon will blot out the sun in spain
for 4 minutes and 39 seconds
from the moment you read this word
we can know exactly how much time
will pass before a crowd of millions
gasps at an event specific to this planet
and we’ll know at 10:52 they’ll pack up
to head home to their jobs and pets
and netflix originals and cereal and traffic
jams, profundity ebbing in their chests
we know the time of the last eclipse that i
could possibly see, but not where i’ll be
