what makes you feel full?

by which I mean, 

what makes you feel simultaneously

soft and aflame 


grass cut in Kentucky neighborhoods

by men who lay across porches when they are finished

pale bellies exposed to blue collar suns


rose of Sharon

grown by my mother for my grandmother of the same name

and blueberry bushes protected from rabbits


her own freckled fingers 

a face framed in golden curls mimicking mine

picking a guitar owned by my father and his best friend before him 


twin beds pushed together

and a woman who sees no problem in sharing them 

a twenty friendship built inside chip wrappers and unfolded laundry


frankness of questions already answered

and two am breakdowns fueled by Seagrams and seven up

camaraderie in parallel sexualities and a song in a minor key


sunday morning purple robed poetry

a girl unable to choose and unwilling to try

a journal shared in the endings


a girl aflame with a head aflame

softly shut doors in the wake of tears

the solace of being on the same page


an always falling asleep 

a settling down and a picking back up

girls made of the written word and thrift shop shorts


audacity in women or one

who will tell me she loves me with her mouth on mine for the first time

an amiable trading of control


vests in camouflage 

and kindness unencumbered by disguises 

a southern savior from the fear of stepping out


metaphors exchanged across text messages

and a mesh shirted sophistication

a refusal to filter compliments in the interest of appropriate


a beer with my name on it drunk with whispered library words

an agreement to sit in the rain and wash things off

the moments between admonishment spent lying in the grass


nightstands whose contents never change

cheap whiskey through a straw

jokes prescribed in the wake of social anxiety


a painted index fingernail in the interest of a quiet statement 

scheduled make outs at six months

a family dinner with a favorite song on the way there


a girl with pride in her boots but not her A in organic chemistry

sleepovers spilling into adulthood

a best friendship begun within a best friendship


yellow cake and pink flowers

a disbelief in lactose intolerance

an expectation of intimacy in strangers


quiet religion

but a loud humanness

a love for cats and other small things


a jar full of pennies from heaven 

tomato plants with female pronouns

love notes left on the back of finals schedules


being okay alone in red shorts

a bonding over fresh fruit and Pavement 

shared silence in cluttered living rooms


dogs howling in unison

protest posters

my head in her lap

hers in mine

my mother’s blue tunic

the secrecy of the word holler


piles of cousins

green mountains

the smell of his woodshop

old violins

new loves