Oak Park Library is closed through mid-December for construction. Read more »
how everything had a name in the tender white light
fracturing over our pliant limbs, tangled
against car seats saturated with smoke,
silence calcifying in the negative space of our ribs.
I stop some where waiting for you…. Yet you pretend I have gone!
I’ve scattered my ellipses like breadcrumbs in a public park.
It is 7:32 p.m.… I take refuge in your neck, my ear pressed close to your apple,
Back when I yearn to scrape you clean of seeds.