Jackie put her high tops, underwear, and tank top in the freezer under a bag of Tyson breaded chicken tenders. An hour later she took them out and put them all on. She didn’t wear socks in the high tops. She put on sunglasses. Then she walked to
Bendable, Poseable Jesus of Nazareth Defines Grace
Grace is a swallow of freeze-your-balls-off cold water
in summer nearly anywhere in the Middle East—therefore,
it’s the sweet feeling you’re alive and present in the world.
The ruined world, certainly. But goofy-hopeful, nonetheless.
My father, the state-prison guard, says some of his cells have been opened now, the men he watches going home the same way he does. He says those men won’t report for any sort of work tomorrow. He says the Governor has freed them, not the virus.
I kept a lizard’s skeleton
in a six-inch cedar box
I carried around the house.
I added a blue jay feather
and a pink nub of quartz
and wrote inside the lid—
I won’t tell you what.
Tattered hide clung
to ribs and backbone.
There is a woman in the city here walking around and conducting her day-to-day life with the memory of an argument, a screaming match, that had horrible consequences. Or rather, that ended badly; badly in the extreme. It would be wrong to ascribe the
The day after my husband moves out, I tell my daughters, busy doing homework, I plan to go for a long walk. Instead, I take a short walk, to the beer and sausage place in the Mission. I order my favorite double IPA and read a chapter of a novel. But
At the apple orchard we’re walking, after the mother and daughter farmers at the counter give us our waxy paper bags, and it’s a little too late in the season—too few apples left, and often rotted. There are fewer people here than
I remainder the nut in your doom at the scone where we woke, would you to be a guile to my cluster? My roost, next to yours.
Your mouth, would always apprehend your phoenix so gruffly! She, your motif, had no infection after your dam’s decline,
Vancouver in Rain
Vancouver, how they sometimes hate you
Being so wet! You could leave all
Your lower content in dark & cold, with yesterday’s
Newspapers, flyers, flowers, leaves & even
Tales pickled in the pools or puddles full of
Open Field Identity
I was a pink angora sweater slightly allergic to myself. How
can a color not the color of my skin succeed so well in saying
flesh. I wear myself in his car, slide over on the seat. I was
the table of contents—prelude, footnote—running away
Ebbie drops Clair off for karate at the strip mall dojo on Thursdays at 3:30 and takes an hour for herself across the street in the coffee house where she can sit and stare out at the traffic or at the line inside and legitimately not think about emails
Junaid’s grip on her hand tightens; eyes pop open, and she eases her hair out of its bun, letting it rest at the base of her neck. They are watching: the children have stopped kicking the deflated little ball around and have gathered to stare at