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She watches them now as they are spread long-limbed over the dirt, their fingers reaching into the redness and the grit, their elbows and knees always dusty, always rubbed a little raw from their kneeling at play, this serious activity of theirs, eyes grave and directions passed between them in sensible whispers, never shouted because her children do not raise their voices.
Read MoreI packed my mom in Tupperware
from the dollar store. She always wanted
to go to the Bahamas, even before
she’d gone to sand—before her bones
could be mistaken for broken
shells.
His grandmother snipped the wild
pink tea roses for my corsage
from the bush by the gravel
driveway…
There are two stories to this space. There is us, in the evening, making dinner at ten pm. Starving from daily activities. Wearing partial outfits of t-shirts and boxers (be careful not to burn yourself), as we spin in sock feet.
Read MoreThe farmer was out mending fences.
Anything broken or buckled or rotted
was his domain.
Two days into a cold snap I made steel-cut oats for breakfast. It was the kind that takes 30 minutes and a lot of stirring to make. I had woken up early since I slept alone that night.
Read MoreWhen I'm good I'm great. I mean it, I get it. I'd want me too. Not to sound– no, happy to sound arrogant, or conceited, or whatever. Extra. When I'm on form everyone in the room, male, female, or otherwise, myself very much included, would want to lick my tight stomach, and I know it.
Read MoreBecause in the beginning there was
“this deer was alive not 12 hours ago
now get your tickets and feed your family tonight.”
The ice in the window melted itself into teeth,
like a sea monster left their dentures in my kitchen.
Bold Brazilian Lisa
behind the bar,
Jonnie’s Scottish singularities—
bored with Traditional,
Honey-Brown hopes of Hoegaarden
tap eternal.