After Jennifer S. Cheng 1: the sea captured in a glass 2: a homophone for having enough for leftovers, a synonym for abundance 3: the fish, who have already forgotten you. It’s not personal 4: where memory fails, there’s still imagining 5: you. Not as an ocean but outside 6: glass and/or acrylic
Read MoreOh Honey, Bless Your Heart There’s nothin like Nana’s kitchen with the angled door frames and the sound of everybody bein ugly.
Letter from a Young Poet “Do not write love-poems; avoid at first those forms that are too facile and commonplace: they are themost difficult, for it takes a great, fully matured power
We watch PBS and learnhow every bird was a dinosaur,how the earliest whales were wolveswho found the water goodand disappeared into it. I get high enough to see that death is merelya change
You misunderstand me, mother. You, who do not soften into me. I’ve always wanted to say that to you. Now that I have, I must remark on lesser things: our pinky nail
ATTACHMENT THEORY Once she began spitting, foam dashing the windshield like snow, I reached sideways from the driver’s seat and volleyed my fist against her breastbone. Twice. More than twice. Don’t hit me! She cried out
The Sun, Naked A tidal surge of greenacross the Vaca hills,new grass,mermaid hair.Wind announcing spring beforeits time. Mustard waist-high,furrowed rows of vines,the sun, naked.Lupine flushin purple rash as if to say we’ve had enoughwinter rain.
The only flowers you can’t pick on the island are wood lilies. They shoot out of the ground in clusters, orange with brown flecks on their petals, and in 1978 the state
Clatter-drawn, drawn by hail.In rain the stones go soft and feral.You’re ferocious in trauma’s pelt,prickly skins each generationpasses down, heavy and re-stitched. You’re a roar of grassesand lashed panes, a rabbit haunchquivering
What Happens in Hour Four? I’m paying attention to the lyrics in this song which go you can’t…always get…what you want… but if you try…you get what you need. I’m paying attention
Dirty light in the tiny hours. Rubbed myself off on a fire hydrant in the shadows. For want of a more accessible protuberance. It was the old night terroirs had me up.