breakup text 

i love when the end has an open
car window. somewhere to release
all the crows you've been keeping.
i spent all night fishing
& caught nothing but glow sticks.
i have a backpack of scissors in my house
even though i never use it. that is a lie.
i'm sorry i use it often. 
i have sent & received breakup texts.
in the middle of the blue morning.
with a thumb on the tongue of a phone. 
pretended for hours that i didn't see them.
landed on the moon with nothing
but the scissors. unlike what 
the tv shows say, survival is not a skill
it is a happenstance. there is a bowl
of watermelon. there is a man sitting
on the bench at the bus stop who asks
over & over, "how do we get to alburtis?" 
i prefer a text really. the space to be privately 
distraught or relieved or confused.
little birds in the back of my throat. 
a frying pan with a whole zucchini medallioned 
inside. i appreciate all shades of gold.
vegetable oil & a ring that loses 
its purpose. when we break up, i like
to gather all the items we've shared
& sacrifice them to the oldest spirit 
i can find. tea cups & wooden boxes & rings.
the beings are always ravenous.
i watch them chew. wish i could 
eat your bones one last time. not in 
a sexual way but in the way a neighbor
might come over in the middle of the night,
saying, "do you see how loud the stars are?"