everywhere on the bagel, poppies
in the out of focus fields, poppies
the feeds scroll full of puppies
the home, poppies
what can you say about fireworks
has already exploded
in mouth in blood
we buds. we bud.
grandpa was a farmer
he tended to his poppies
white and wild wind
the wind. white and wild
(originally published in As It Ought To Be Magazine, Spring 2023 – nominated for a Pushcart Prize)
California, 2014, in her brother’s
bed, we could have went home
but didn’t.
Instead, we cuddled and slept
in only underwear.
I woke up alone
to find her on the couch.
We nuzzled our faces before
finally walking into the sun–
already dripping wax,
feeding desert flowers
in its best attempt
to stave the rain.
(originally published in Euphemism, Fall 2021)
1.
by the window
your headlights
in the driveway
2.
behind
the blinds
3.
from
inside
this
blanket
(originally published in Fleas on the Dog, Summer 2020)
my body was destroyed
to confuse the witness
red feathers fell
in dust and dirt
I am not compatible with the moon
I kiss my mouth
illness has become a tooth
return to the deep pit
black in its whole
(originally published in Setu, Summer 2020)
nights were alive with music
wine crushed coffee bones faded
light to sleep dustballs curled
were swept away
(originally published in Winamop, Winter 2023)
we inflated important
words empty laughs
being sound balloons
attached to inflatable
poppable hearts buy twelve
in a bag for a dollar eggs break
the yolks watch that grease
pour into morning pans
(originally published in RASPUTIN, Winter 2020)
If there is no coffee
in any of these storefronts–
if I walk up another hill–
scattered branches, lily weeds
protruding from the pavement,
roses bending out of vases–
take me into the tree-
speckled shadows
before I rest there now.
(originally published in Winamop, Winter 2020)
Each morning wake to glimmer.
Faucet water runs to the end of water–
I am breakfast cloak, frozen pizza
and a skinny. Reduces
and creates anxiety.
Though poor
I have water I want more–
start drinking
(originally published in Sybil Journal, Summer 2020)
spring wind
palette of butterflies
golden hour
the shuffled-card memory
flipped through photos
the month passed
(originally published in The Field Guide Magazine, Fall 2023)
We turned off the lights and counted
to a hundred in a house more familiar
than our aging hands. I found solace
deep in the cockroach closet– you,
beneath the brown beanbag.
We waited in these surroundings
for our lovers’ eyes to adjust.
We never wanted it so quiet.
(originally published in Academy of the Heart and Mind, Summer 2023)