am neatly obsessed with warm concrete
am neatly obsessed with my favorite water brand
am neatly obsessed with tercets & triplet hearts
am neatly obsessed with names that a hold a home
am neatly obsessed with streets that overflow in obscurity
am neatly obsessed with trails that go on for miles
am neatly obsessed with packages that read like blankets
my shadow
my train.
Luck, this much
is plain:
hatchet face,
ratchet grin.
The bin
needs emptying
again—
too little.
It’s true, I’m in
the middle
The least cricket of evening
is invisible, naked except for
its tiny violin, the lost bell
of its heart. Somewhere
in this room my terracotta
cricket with its sap-colored eyes
raises a hair-thin quiver
What music would Korsakov write
if he were here on earth as the bees
are dying? Their hives weightless lungs
paper lanterns swaying on the wind?
Their queen done telling her endless
stories to stay alive, no longer daughter
of the immortal gods: Father Frost
and Mother Spring, her heart melting
for the love of a man.
ma always said that water cleanses you
inside and out
if ya bored, take a shower
if ya sick, drink water
if ya sad, take a shower
if ya leg broke, drink water
if ya stank, take a shower
And then it came back to me as I heard
a young boy practice his violin
under the concrete canopy of the park’s amphitheater
My husband looked at her, then at me—it was a look of amazement and pride. See what our child can do? He wasn’t thinking, say, that she was about to scald herself with hot water.
