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
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* Voltage-gated pathways are depolarizedand pore-forming membrane proteinsallow calcium influx from adjacent solutions. (Cell insides become saturated) Excitation is mossy fiber runningsouthbound head-stems and paired shootsthrough once-relaxed tissue. * You’ve established rules,preventative
What separates us from our lives / is a see-through thing. /
my last meal as a girl I dined onsnow. the sky snared
at some point while you create yourself you tryto
i am tired of eating mortar. my body is getting too heavy. when the girl at the ice cream shop doesn’t take my order, i joke if it’s because i’m chubby
I hushed my child, remembered the fallen squirrel who wouldn’t cryand how we played hours of recorded wails until its mother heard, pulled it from our dried fruits, nuts, towels, capful of water, and fled.
Oh 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.
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
