I ask when kissing
our cat does this
make you jealous?
Not because it is
my mission. Today
marks shedding
season the first
day of spring.
Dry lips coated
with fur because
winter was long
and tomorrow
we will be new.
(originally published in DoubleSpeak Magazine, Summer 2023)
animal
To Sara (From Kermit)
This world you teach me is velvet
mice in your palm, on the carpet,
in my teeth, repeat. And the silver
crinkle ball that shines purple in sun
light that I cannot stop batting across
the floor. I sometimes push it into
that unreachable darkness underneath
the couch downstairs. DQ told me there
once was a cat who left and never
returned, and she thinks about him
constantly, expecting him each entrance
of outside light, and I tell her no, there’s only
me and you, and I run around the house,
seeking his faint traces. And she tells me of days–
long, unimaginable days– when no one is around
and you just have to bide your time and wait.
It seems so lonely. I run to her and
she screams and retreats into the Cavern of
Bags. I follow her in too deep. Please
tell me you will always be around.
I need someone here to complete
such important work, this
drive inside that bursts and blooms
its way across the corners
of these rooms I’m learning,
this love I newly navigate far
from small, stuffed cages
I used to think
was the world
until I met the space
within your affection,
a bond of greater
boundlessness.
(originally published in Unlikely Stories Mark V, Winter 2023)
San Diego Zoo
after our red leash
became frantic
unsure of what grip
the wilderness had
or which eyeline
to focus on
oh aquamarine jewels
oh black-silk storks
name the artist
who decided traffic
was a logjam
in their brain
all you must do
(golden hour brown
on the frizz
of your hair)
is unclench
your fist
and follow
the leopard
(originally published in EAP: The Magazine, Fall 2023)
I Convince My Mom to Write
For a time, I convinced my mother to write
mini memoirs of her farmer childhood
in the Philippines. In one, a monkey bites
her during a nap in a hammock; in another,
she falls from a tree onto a snakebite,
and her father tosses her into the Pacific.
This morning, she tells me of
leading a goat on a rope
up a hill. At the top, it starts to rain
and the goat runs back down.
I tell my mom she should write this.
She says, no, you should.
So I ask how did you feel
being dragged by a goat?
My mom looks to the ceiling,
patterns of neural pathways
on a sea of white.
She says, I wanted to cook him
for dinner. He scratched my arm
I couldn’t untie the goat from the tree
to eat grass but he didn’t like rain,
he smelled rain, smelled the smoke
out of the fog, the smoke up the mountain
smoke from where the ground is so warm
it evaporates, and you hear raindrops, the wind
blowing while crying the goat was very strong,
when you’re a kid it feels like a water slide
only no water on top of hills going down
trying to run – in the Philippines that’s how
it feels when you get dragged by a goat, she went into
water – jumped into the river – a forever pool – rock you jump
over it’s deep – after rain and flood washed out all dirt
when water turned clear back when I was kid – like after
the flood no leeches would come with leeches I hollered
and nearly stabbed a leg with a knife – neighbor cut
his leeches and his leg – plenty of leeches in our river – flood
clears leeches – flood clears everything – the flood will drag you all
the way to the ocean
(originally published in Hello America Stereo Cassette, Winter 2022)
A Deep Exhaustion
I have a deep exhaustion
when an animal puts his head
on my lap I fall
ask anyone and they will say the weekend
is gone too fast
you sleep through your dreams
the train whistles
the beating heart
of your partner next to you
asleep through the lost time you share
(originally published in Pirene’s Fountain, Summer 2024)
To Kailee (From Irie)
I know the risks when I make the journey–
after running through shadows beneath dark
desk, I must evade the heavy stomping
of giants who do not see me and black
wheels that zag back and forth on
the bottom of a bony leather rolling
chair. And if I can get past that,
there’s the barren carpet desert,
a field of dust kicking up exhaust
to sneeze. I huff and puff past junk
I’m told is poison yet I always want
to eat– crumbs from a swan
sandwich, push pins, script meat.
And at the edge of the expanse I am
out of breath with miles to go–
a table ten towers tall to run under.
I close my eyes and sprint until
the window by where you sit
and I tap you on the shoe.
After you call my name
I say that’s me! then
your palms become a
cradle lifting me to lap
where the world is warm
honey sunshine.
After hours and hours
to rest and recover–
you glide me over
towers, the dust field,
the rolling chair, the stomping
shoes, the shadows, like these
obstacles were nothing when
you place me back in my blanket.
For you, bringing me home
is the easiest thing in the world.
(originally published in Backchannels Journal, Spring 2023)
My Mind’s Forbidden Animals
I am feeling
dictatoresque
having already killed
a spider tonight
inching down
my bedroom wall
I crushed him
with a white paper towel
as I barked praise
for keeping
more insects out
of my house
but you can’t show
your face around here
(originally published in Roi Faneant, Summer 2022)
Pounds of Turkey
I am tired of lunch meat sandwiches
the cold beasts breathing down
my throat of history
harkening if not to past lives
then my previous ones too
sitting alone in Mom’s kitchen
the green and white table
under malfunctioning fan
with a clink in its swing
Wonderbread from Acme
could have been from anywhere
but the taste is familiar if not a burdened kind of sweet
I’ve moved to a Schwebels brand of cheap
wheat always on sale always lasts
for weeks until it’s eaten
this food chain lawlessly evolved
(originally published in The Field Guide Poetry Magazine, Fall 2023)
To Billy (From Irie)
When I first saw the broom stand
upright in the room, I thought, witchcraft.
I couldn’t sleep for days after that.
Not because it tumbled and crashed
to the floor in a roar of unforeseen
thunder, but because it was thrilling
to see the way we could play with
gravitational pull. Can my chewy
be tossed across the office with
a knuckleball axis tilt at the end?
I’ve witnessed tricks, your robot-
walk into a wall, your near-miss
backflip kick to the hanging amber
lights off the ceiling. I see everything
that happens here from my suite
on the floor, which is why, one day,
when the moon is tugging the world
the right way, I’ll sneak out my pillow
into the hall, past the conference room.
When you search for me, I will stand
on two legs in the shadows, ready
to capture your reaction on camera.
(originally published in Communicators League, Fall 2021)
To Rich (From Irie)
Bananas everywhere make me hungry.
The doormat, the neon sign, the sticker
on your Apple– I can’t help it. My
cuteness doesn’t preclude that I am part
wolf. A ruthless hunter. When I run
across the rug to your room I want you
to throw fruit on the floor just to bite off
the peels. I’ve had my eyes on inedible Ethel
the Christmas Chicken when I learned she’s
still a chicken. For once I want a sandwich.
Put me in your cart with a potato gun
at Sam’s and we’ll hold that whole
place up. As you ransack the banana stand,
I’ll loot the deli and meet you in the middle.
(originally published in Jokes Review, Summer 2020)