The envelope may be postmarked 600 B.C.E.,
but when you open there’s a letter jam-packed
with a woolly mammoth wheel of Jack n’ Jill’s
moldy cheese left out on their hill in the sun.
My lips want to tell me
stories like those my grandmother
would tell
Triple digit Central Valley heat
pulls a foggy blanket over bleak shoreline,
fills silver skies with gloomy faux clouds.
Perhaps injecting tiny robots
into my eyeballs
would rewire the lapse
of my love for you
“Look what I found!” Alan called out. First thing that morning, Alan had burst through the door with supplies from Noreen’s. Zip and I were just waking up, rummaging under the kitchen counter for the steel coffee pot. Alan was...
Read MoreMom goes to bed, and Dad stays up for a while. They tell me to go to bed. I know it shouldn’t be my job to protect us. But if the house catches on fire while I’m asleep, then it’s my fault. I should keep watching.
Read MoreBarriers are built for those
who may stay and those
who must go. The earth shrinks
You are in Phoenix
drinking vodka from a plunger
We hear catalysts when we perceive sound;
hearing the waves that will dictate our days,
hearing the sun and the moon and their lai.
Order 2 cups of Starbucks
medium roast, one with skim,
one filled just in blackness.
I was preparing my crowns of
Myrtle in anticipation
of your auspicious arrival.
But it has been raining all day.
I can’t comb out the knots
of 1995 when winter
snow runoff from a spigot
in a campground
was what we had for washing
