dear seattle,

i look at myself and my hair is shorter
my fingers have grown longer 
from a missing pearl of a ring
probably curled somewhere behind
a bus seat pooling in rainwater

dear seattle, 

i look at myself in my round mirror
in my new round golden glasses 
perched over my snake plant 
those different boys watered while 
i just watched. i saw other boys O.D
in the burrow of the patisserie
and i just watched. 

i hope that is okay. 


dear seattle, 

my first friends here all left
before winter came. so i bought
rope, wheat-colored, soft as butter, and tied
it around my calves and thighs 
building pressure into blue
if no one could hold me
down, i would, i would.


dear seattle,

i glared at a man i held
the door for yesterday
ungrateful like some mosquito
taking my blood leaving me
without a good itch. 
thank you you’re welcome thank you
you’re welcome thank you goodbye

dear seattle, 

nothing has ever felt mine
even the ferns that are so kind
even the tall buildings i hide 
a western set in mist 
give me southern, give me thunder, give me bliss