—for Tree C.

I’ll always have this place for you, 
and the hum of air conditioning,
and a dog at a distance
barking–
Jennifer Jupiter paw deep, 
pushing, yielding poop mountains 
aside to get out from under fence—
that’s funny to me. 

One can’t help but hate that dog—
she’s wondrous irksome,
her chocolate gaze
under Chewbacca frizz
with one, fuzzy dropping eye,
and two lascivious lips.

People called me speechless-dumb 
much earlier on in life. 
I was indeed insecure, 
insular, 
surrounded
by my whole crowd of family. 
I could rely on them.

Come with me,
forward many years later,
and quick a felt, bristling crazy 
I became to each of them—
something in the way.
No. All I want is safe—

money came from Friendly’s,
a waitressing job
put toward my bargain trial medication,
You’ll be public speaking in no time!
and all my loved ones died.

All the safe ones. 
All the harbors in the corners of 
my childhood home—a squared circle—
and I stepped outside the door.

I have felt so alone since Mom died. 
It is survival.
This is only survival.