We lived in a college apartment, 
two kids knowing nothing except
this was where we started.

Mix parmesan cheese
in a bowl with chili powder,
black pepper, Italian seasoning.

The bare waste of furniture, 
mattress and boxspring on the floor,
and the tiny galley kitchen
we somehow produced meals from.

Chicken breasts,
wet under the faucet,
and roll them in the mixture bowl. 

Our first real recipe.
Trotted out to visitors, parents
and, some years down the line,
our children.

Transfer to casserole dish.
Bake until chicken is cooked through.
Top with shredded cheese and
serve with favorite pasta and tomato sauce.

I would come in the door
after a long shift, smell dinner
in the oven and know that I was home.

I want to let my head fall back, my long red hair fall,
neck broken, expressionless, dry eyes shimmering
now with these big ceiling lights like stars above.
If I tried to slip outside away from you all politely,
the humidity would asphyxiate me, a slow death,
but I wouldn’t mind missing the rest of this movie.
I know the ending: freak at the train station, haunted
house torn down brick by brick, a mother weeping.
To keep myself awake I book a vacation in September.
I hope we won’t burn to death by then. I hope I can
tolerate my own fantasies. I’ll be there in the sand,
asleep in a dreamless haze, surrounded by brilliant blue.

Do not cry over spilt milk,
or blame the mirror’s shards for being sharp.

Do not frown over age lines, 
or fret the rising of tomorrow’s too-soon sun.

Do not morn the motorcycle for exploding,
that’s just what motorcycles do.

Strange vacation ennui
Sleepy after the long rainy month turns to sultry summer overnight

Working in the garden
Tomato plants already overgrowing their supports
Thinning beets, harvesting more turnips than a couple can eat in an entire season

Dog watching the workmen through the back door
Finishing the deck, sweating
While we enjoy the cool indoors

And finished off the longest day with bourbon and silence for the first time in weeks

The sun gives tomorrow a slow shape—
Every silhouette singing for the tender death of the day. 
I might as well indulge in a Romantic ramble,
And lick summer’s sweet nectar off a poet’s palm—
An amber enchantment, Sticky with a rhyming residue
That will linger on old father time’s hands. 

I’ve been trying to pour out more political lines,
I’ve been wondering if that’s part of the profession. 
But today, I take my wristwatch off at the table, 
And lay it face down—
There’s a lot of figurative frivolity to discuss
Before the fireflies freeze. 

Tell me about the pillow-forts and treehouses of your youth,
I’ll throw you a couple thought experiments—
Just to know you, even in the hypothetical.
These little talks are like lullabies, 
Like the last effort of purple that clings to the horizon,
Trying to dawdle with the dog days of June.

warmer out
breezes blowing new relief
skin burning
sizzling, drying in the heat
scars fading
as my skin gets darker
nothing will ever 
be replaced
and i’ve never found joy
like i did today
as skin cells disintegrate 

The room dims. The sun, who had finally
come out, hidden again by a last thick cloud
driven by. The air goes still, yet the periwinkle
porch swing sways. In the faint light,
I feel a chill— another ghost floating through?
It’s something I think about, from time
to time, in this nearly airtight box,
consider who lived upon this land before—
before cow pastures. Think of those
who roamed freely here. Before they could not.
No enclosed boxes then, all out in open air.
Before we over warmed the Earth.
Was the large pond in the middle of the cornfield
across the way filled with trout? Did those here
welcome the clouds on a hot June day?
Recite poetry? What tree roots had hold
before most were chopped down?
The wind whistles through the leaves
of the crabapple tree, and the swing swings
higher. Perhaps this ghost does not see me
or this now. Or simply wishes to settle in
and sway, drifting in her death state,
remembering a stillness I could never know.

I warned her not to shake her bottle of 7-Up.

          Did she listen?

I warned her not to open her bottle.

          Do you think she listened?

When the fizzy concoction exploded onto her face, 

and I saw her eyes as wide as saucers,

          Do you think I laughed?

Indubitably!

Look at these drawings I made, aren’t they nice?
Look at your characters I drew, with their fluffy
green hats and red freckles. Did you look at the post

I made, the one with the joke? Did you laugh? Look
how funny it is, I am howling! Look at how sad 
my character is. Did you see, did you comment?

Look at my profile, it’s so empty! Did you see
I am free to draw? Did you see I have been writing
more recently? We can write and draw together!

Did you see?
Do you see me?
Please look.

when your bones ache
when your heart is heavy
when the sun beckons and beams
when you only get one of this day
forever 

is it okay?
is it okay to stay in?
to rest or to recover
when you only get one
and the wind is so lovely