paper plate 

i set the day on a paper plate,
it's a good day, really really ripe day 
with skin all soft & mushy.

i slice the day & tell it
to stop crying, that it's just 
a day & there's a whole bowl 
of days on the table.

i put my parents on a plate &
i carry it to the living room,
setting it on the arm of the sofa.

they lie down like slices of peach,
nectar-dripping & thin.
the tv is black & quiet but i
watch it while i eat them,

holding out another paper plate
i ask you if you'll get on it
with me. i'm small & microwavable
& so are you & so is anyone at
this time of night

we clasp hands & look at
each other, the yellow pirouette 
of being spun on the microwave's 
glass plate

soft & softer, string-cheese knees
melting & leaving us looking
up at the ceiling fan,

at least we don't have to worry
about where we have to when
we're laying like this

another plate i stack with 
knives & another with spoons

another plate i put all
my book shelves & another 
my grandmother's grave is plotted on.

i leave flowers on the plate too. 

& then of course we have to
throw them away. the trash 
is a wonderful kind of museum.

it's big & white in my kitchen

i crawl inside so all
the plates can get spilled over me.

i tuck myself small &
the plastic lining become embryo,
i'm a yolk, dip your finger in me.

eating leftovers by myself
i remember that you were on
the plate too, so i dig & dig & dig

to find you, rotted & sweet,
the cheese getting a crust from
being left out too long,

but i still take bites out of you,
after  all we went to the hassle of
getting out a paper plate.

your last wish was for me to try
& fit all the planets on one &
i tried not to laugh at you because
that's so easy.  

god does that every single night,
he rings my doorbell, wipes
his shoes before entering &
swipes a paper plate from 
my counter so that he can pick

each star & planet out of the sky
& throw them in the trash with us
when the night is over
it takes them all day with the sun
to grow back

i crawl out of the trash,
offering you a hand. we shower
together. 

i put the morning 
on a paper plate

it's almost too big to fit.