i close my eyes & peel an orange.
the orange is not an orange but a fist.
uncurl the fingers wrapped around a pen drive
that's full of confessions.
one of them is i used to write "i love you"
on the chalkboard & pretend that by erasing it,
i was sending it to someone else. i want to celebrate myself
the way birds do unquestioningly.
just yesterday, i saw a blue jay swoop down,
a flower in his beak. he said, "summertime summertime"
like a skipping record. the orange wasn't sweet.
was full of seeds. the "i love you" comes as an animal rain.