unbaptisms 

i go to the roadkill city
in search of a deer skull.
reach my hands into the ribs 
of a broken animal 
to lift out a new mask.
in the rain, everything
gets a chance to be washed
& new. a fountain can be anywhere
there is a desire to be 
un-gendered or re-gendered.
i come back to a closet full of 
lace & tadpoles. drink the fabric 
of a moth laden wedding.
o here is where i become
the breath i needed. here is where
i carry god's bones to the scrying mirror.
dip them in shadow & say
no more will you tell me where
i can & can't grow my teeth.
a jaw comes back like a crescent moon.
the deer walk, body-less & bloodied
by the light of street lamps.
i am one of them & a witch & a flock
of crows & a tranced rabbit.
i eat with my fingers. elbow deep.
reaching in for the heart.
a pot of silver bullets. a basket 
of dried lavendar. a hole in the sun
through which i thread my name. 

bedtime story

tell me i am your tapioca pearl.
make me as small as a crabapple 
carried in the mouth of a dove.
i put on my headphones 
& become a tongue. how, when i was
a glass bead my father would roll me
between his hands. tell me stories 
of the origins of purple
& where flowers choke on red music.
i want the one about the old man
& the dying planet. i want the one about
a greedy tree. your thumbs over pages.
your voice a mug of water.
how much i crave the miniscule.
to live into magnifying glass words.
oceans odf silk. a blanket made
of mowed law. outside, i am 
the skeleton of so many demands.
the stop sign & the stop light
& the library mood. babysitting trashcans.
shoveling a heap of eyelashes.
here & now though i am just
a banana leaf with a baby on top.
the sound of rain. i ask for you
to read another. talk to me until
the sun is a clementine again. 

on a saturday evening god tries to forget she has children

takes off her shoes & leaves them
by the shoreline. she thinks of acorns 
& how they came to her in a dream.
knots of life. everything in a way begins
as a fist. she tells herself, "i am a zephyr.
a tumble of wind." walks across 
the foreheads of clouds. plugs her ears 
with wayward feathers until
the world sounds blue & grey. soft to the touch.
she imagines walking until there is
no world beneath her
or above her. just glass & grapes. she thinks,
"maybe they would get on without me."
all of their voices come in waves. crashing.
"please, please, please," they say & she
can only pluck one tongue from the torrent.
now, she finds a hem where her universe
meets the next. there she sits beneath
an old fig tree. the tree sings & she wishes 
there was no tree at all. she doesn't want
to be reminded of her work. 
creation is a lovely burden, she thinks.
everything is a child. everything a kind of need.
she wants to be in a place someone else
has furnished. she wants a voice 
to shout down from above & say,
"here is your house. here is your life."
she wonders if gods can retire. she knows
they cannot. creation is a circuit of power.
always the tether between her & each heart 
& root & gills. master of a thousand leashes.
she wants to eat ice cream. cool & slightly melted
so she does with a tiny silver spoon.
sits with her back to the universe.
pretends, for just that night,
that it is a mobile or a diarama 
& not a sea of teeth & longing. 

dress zipper

the best poems are confessions.
somedays i want to live alone again
in the raccoon dark of the mountains.
wake up with a bird's nest knit
in my hair & tell the nestlings
stories of spearmint & fire escapes 
that grow like spines on the buildings
in the city where i met you.
your thumb & forefinger
grasped the zipper on the back 
of my black dress. we were married
in the way we weren't. a promise 
around a promise. windows that folded
into diner menus. i want to turn around
& have you always waiting
to put me into my body. then, i want
only dresses i can zip myself.
i've heard of the coat hanger trick.  i've heard
a wife is a pot full of onions in the kitchen.
wooden spoons in our eyes. 
i use my fingers like wolf spiders.
take apart your face. take apart your gender.
then, there we were in the closet's mouth
making jupiter pinwheels. your legs.
barefeet. here comes the bottle.
the parking lot. feeling for a seam 
to turn into a passageway. i want
your help but i also want 
to get undressed alone & put on a candle.
sing until my tongue is just a ribbon.

winter strawberry garden

we planted the hearts of squirrels
beneath the skeleton
of our grandfather & waited for red
to bleat through the snow.
in the barn the barn owls
are hacking security systems 
across the world. i am looking for
an outlet where i can charge
my sweet tooth. there is a plot
to kill the sun but it is thousand of years
in the making. i know i am not
going to be the one to stop them.
so, i sit back & watch everyday 
as the strawberry grow up through
the skeleton. swell & cry out.
i devour them as they do & 
if any travelers go by i make a show
of looking for a ripe one
only to shrug. we have to get creative
with our hoarding. i find owl pellets
& pry them apart like easter eggs.
in one i found a doll house fork & in
another i find a sim card. 
the owls know more than me i suppose.
when spring comes these strawberries
will go to sleep & i will have to 
find another animal to burry.
for now though the sky 
buzzes grey & ever the crows complain
about how hard it is to find
something sugary to make the day
less sharp around the edges.

tree of matches 

in the grove we once wore 
only our first communion faces.
felt the pull of the ocean
calling us to become just wood.
sailor men on the shore
blowing kisses to the mermaids.
jellyfish carcasses. a gutted moon.
eating what is left. i tell you
do not stetched your shoudlers 
or unhinge your jaw. i do not know
what kind of move will be what it takes
to strike an arm against an arm.
i have seen a man with windows 
that held in the fire. a boiling house.
melted bars that once kept
the irises in. i did not mean to grow like this.
i bloomed & then each day became
a new red fist. the roses bite
my ankles. there is a bouquet 
of snakes. i always wanted 
to bear a rocket ship. something 
to send off with all the bad news.
instead. i became a danger 
to myself & others. there are people
who would pluck my fruit. 
they are the kind of people
who fill their throats with kindling
& then blame the fire they swallowed
for the destruction. fire only comes
to seal the deal. lick the envelope. 
i should know. i should know.
i am one of those people.

bell witch cave

her voice was a flock of crows
when it cut through skin
& called us forward. outside, a rain 
made fresh the fields. we ran & dared
one another to enter the cave. 
to enter one another's mouths. i saw
your teeth like stalagtites & mites.
her voice was a bowl of spilled pears.
thunk thunk thunk along 
the cave floor. we followed the voice.
narrower & narrower. how deep
does your curiosity take you? i once
went into the attic alone & found 
an urn of my grandfather's ashes.
her him playing spoons for days after.
i was alone then in the darkness & the others 
were reflections in glossy rock.
smoothed by years of legend.
the witch's face inside my face.
one the ceiling. in the echo.
i thought of wandering in side
the chambers of a heart. 
prayed to dining room tables.
the belly of the sun. here everything
was made of nowhere. bundles of herbs
hung on the walls. her fingernails 
like walking sticks across my skin.
"come deeper," she begged.
i do not know how i found
my way out. knees in the gravel.
the others spitting quartz 
into the grass. the mouth of the cave
laughing & saying, "you should be
much more careful."

taking off my rings 

i think of casting a circle
& calling the watchers. in the forest
there are archways the deers lay
to tell us how
to walk towards a silver television.
in my room i cut portals 
through celophane. 
a bowl of oatmeal. a windowsill
laden with footprints.
each hopstoch a new rabbit
witched & standing in the yard.
i always wanted to lay an egg
& keep it a secret. blue shelled moon.
mother planet. how everything
is an orbit. you around a cigarette.
me around a portrait of a family.
signaling the night to unfurl
her wings. a feather benweath 
my tongue. i trace the indents 
where metal has met bone.
subtle & cyborg, i live on lips
of glass cups & men. throwing stones
in the ever yard. these were once
my fingers. i was once a bird 
& i said to myself, 
"one day i will trace a life
& remove it." bare hands.
the wooden dark. 

we disagree about who sold the moon

but its absence rung 
like a bell & every family portrat 
emptied onto the floor
as piles of marbles. we were
low on cash. as a child 
i saw this happen. how a guitar
would become a cart of bread.
we ate holes in the walls 
to look for lineages. i had a vein
that grew out from my arm
& plunged into the sewer.
i don't think i would do that though.
it was you who always had
a jar of coins cradled like a son.
then again, when i look in the mirror
i see a face of clotheines. i won't
ever admit to you but i could imagine how
on the wrong night when everything 
is too loud & even the ant hills 
are playing their armageddon music
that i could reach up 
& see just a bowl of pear.
melting into their sweetness.
goodbye mother, i might think
as i watch the moon turn into 
a plastic bag of cinnamon rolls.
there is not enough sweetness.
the waves do not know what to do
with their longing. the night sky
is a plate of cherry pits.
i do not want to kiss you. i do not want
to kiss you anymore. 

driveway poem

take me almost & into the throat
of a wild. yourf headlights come in
through the window like takeout boxes.
there was a time where i would sit
& wait for you to come home
with my head in a salad bowl.
do you remember sitting inside
a basket of peaches. your teeth fall out.
you go under the knife in search 
of your mother's wedding ring.
pretending to fall asleep, i issue a warning
to all women in a hundred-mile radius.
i am gay now & need someone to run away with.
it's not easy tending the liminal spaces 
of the world. there is always 
a long lost. there is always someone
with a camera slung around their neck.
i bring paper ballots & close calls.
i try to talk to you & sometimes i wish
you were still my girlfriend. it's like
spitting to try to determine 
the direction of the wind. messy 
but accurate. let's not forget the night it rained
& you had to wear my clothes.
were we girlfriends then? i know the truth is
i want to remember you as something
you weren't. or else i want to 
reach my hand into histry & say,
"this is how it actually was."
you turn off the engine. the driveway is dark.
do we kiss in the front seat or do you
become the gravel beneath my shoes?