Somehow, I pull the words out of my mouth like the colorful scarves inside the sleeve of an amateur magician
And we are both trying so hard
To save our best magic trick to use on ourselves
So that everyone can stop asking so much of us

Embers in my hair, black dust getting to my lungs. Red, yellow, purple, blue fire in front of me, behind me, beside me. Above and below me. Within me.

bent backs
grasses bent in a tweak of fingers
bent my fingers bent my bones
my toes in
earth sweating dew
digging a way out

sweetness
sucking on a single clover

I will count them all
shards of glass in the mirror

every part of me adds
up to nothing

I’m standing in front of violets
in front of a Renaissance painting
and wondering what do I have

When we finally start talking to each other after the fall, huddling on the side of the island where the black-eyed humans can’t hear us, we all tell the same story. A day that started with the sun rising and waking up and going off to whatever it is we do during the day.

Let’s make one thing clear:
there wasn’t a big bad wolf.
Not in my story.
There was no screaming
and running of little girls.
This is an old story;
One where
the structure of power
that had devoured
the generations of women

momma momma momma
it was ricky it was ricky

momma don’t believe that it was ricky who done it
she thinks i killed him

momma momma momma
don’t call the fuzz
it was ricky it was ricky

in this town
words hold hostages
not meaning.
if i cry i will
bleed, and i will
lose,
integrity and i will
rip apart the frontdrop that has
made my portraits pretty
for (maybe) minutes on end.

I’ve never understood why people are so disgusted
by silverfish.
I like the little guys.
They way they scurry around from place to place,
they’ve always got somewhere to be,
perhaps because they don’t like where they are.
I know the feeling.

From the moment a screaming woman thrusts us into the world,
Soft, bloody heads first.
We begin to deteriorate.
For some, that occurs at a faster pace than others.

I feel that if I move from this spot I will die. But I take a step forward and don’t.

Forgive me father for I have sinned.

Once, before the people moved in,
before they took my brothers
and sisters
and cousins
and friends,
I saw the sun.
I grew up
and I grew strong,
trying to reach the sky.
I meant to make
the world beautiful,
but I was robbed

I wake before you and in the darkness,
I don’t recognize you right away.
Your lashes bring their own light,
full like fields of crows,
a murder of crows. The birds nested
on the hill I’m sure I’ve told you about
in front of the tomb, white stones holding

Pouring all of the liquor you can find in the house down the drain is the most fun the daughter of an alcoholic can have without attending therapy. Isn’t that how the saying goes?

who cares about that umbilical cord when it doesn’t stop you from hurting me
you say I’m part of you but I feel you don’t love every part of me
let’s go through my childhood book of memories
earliest one my neck falling backwards

7 november 2017 (sight)
your veiny, wan feet/expansion/between you/the floorboards/creation of
     space
smacking the granite countertop breaks
     infinity they say

This is the pretend-dream,
where I am teaching you to swim,
and your body and my body
remember their names in the water.

We pull them from the lake
where they’ve been drowning,
covered in salt, covered in
sweat and horsetails.

She whispers in my ear when hugging me
I want to stay here forever
I don’t want to go

I’m driftwood
I don’t ever stay for long
But I don’t have the strength to pull away

It’s 10 pm on a cold-for-California winter night, and there’s nothing I want to do more than to leave the ice cream shop. I drag the mop along the floor behind me, letting its weight act as an excuse for my lack of movement.

I know
that when I die
I’ll sink into the soil
Be eaten by all the things I’ve eaten
Become the dirt for all to walk upon
I know that my thoughts are just neurons firing
That my heart is a collection of molecules
that happen to beat

I am from hard worn leather beneath my feet.
Watching my second home from my favorite place,
4 feet above the ground.
From sounds of gymnastics filling my ears
to a layer of chalk and sweat that coats everything from my
legs to the inside of my throat

There’s a question in her blue, misty eyes.

His don’t answer.

Hey, I miss you

School started yesterday and
I really couldn’t stand
You not being there

They had a pasta bar in the cafeteria
The germs wouldn’t mesh well with your hypochondria,
But the butter noodles were okay

Tissues.
Litter my floor.
Scraps of Paper.
Crumpled and overflowing my recycling bin.
Eraser bits.
Cover my desk until the pale wood looks black.

You were my
Spaghetti boyfriend
Blonde
Full of spaghetti
That’s all I really
Know about you

You were my
Only friend
Bright
Full of potential
It’s strange how I don’t
Remember you

Typing the conclusion of my English essay,
in a loud, dimly lit coffee shop,
I peer over my laptop screen
and see the type of girl you only see
in pictures.

cactus spines
pink flowers
my quiet is not
blurred signs at the edges of
interstate
when the clouds
circle at night
pack of dogs
i will my body
to be
prickly pear
humidity is saturation
saturation of patience

Montana and Wyoming
The sprawling landscape of Yellowstone
Against towering mountains
Form a place that I'd never seen before
The animals and people you meet at pull offs
Are what make the experience an experience
Waiting for Old Faithful to burst

cactus spines
pink flowers
my quiet is not
blurred signs at the edges of
interstate
when the clouds
circle at night
pack of dogs
i will my body
to be
prickly pear
humidity is saturation
saturation of patience