Been up since Tuesday salving your grease into the claw mark on my shoulder. Slick and soothing on the tender skin, the ragged edges. Spent most of winter so far in the next room over, my pajamas delicious against your sweet fur, and the snow outside foot-deep hunks of glass could never trickle in the edges, never see our eyes…. Read more →
In every lane, thoughts trouble the water. Kelly thinks about her flower shop: can she can get enough red roses after the hurricane? Helen wonders was she right not to have the breast removed? Yes. No. Yes. No. Clare worries about her mother, who can’t remember what she had for breakfast and won’t use a walker and won’t give up… Read more →
Masae reaches out for a bowl that I inevitably push towards her. She asks me to describe what she is feeling in her fingertips. Blueberries – I tell her. Good for your eyes – I tell her. She continues staring at an awkward spot on my cheek. Decently ripe – I tell her. No more rotten than the fruit in… Read more →
Sometimes when you’re sleeping so deeply the walls breathe with you I slip on your skin rich oil at my hips and shoulders and it does nothing to my flesh not even when I’m staring straight from the window to the ocean not even when I’m watching the slick heads bob in and out of whitecaps looking for you—not even… Read more →
the childhood sat between us we stepped around it careful of each other’s space examined the edges, sharp and smooth looked for give, some opening— it was still so new thumping revealed only that it was mostly solid— hollows here and there impresent, like impossible he said, and I could only agree we were both still learning the language
The sky in June rises with horns, my grandmother’s about her neck in gold, and sets with chelae, claws, pincers, the many names for mother. A bull gives birth to a crab, a crab to a ram, a ram to the cusp of scorpion and centaur— the sky grows full with parturition. How many names for this? The looking up…. Read more →
Clouds interfere with eloquence as we share stories of all the birds we could not save. We are seated on opposite sofas, tearing apart the silent, squelching skin of grilled chicken breast, and what is arresting isn’t broken beaks, oil-slicked plumes, little pink bodies half-consumed by little black ants, or the fallen trees out back, a chorus of soundless sleeping,… Read more →
your mother’s mother passed this year / you told yours she couldn’t die / bought a potted miniature rose plant for her / for the kitchen table / he sheds his leaves / the flowers won’t open / you better understand why so many have been walking aimlessly / not unlike plastic bags in wind / but now at the… Read more →