my great aunt's hair

i'm flossing with a sun beam 
till my teeth are white.
let's bleach the apples 
pale as lotion. when i'm old
i will go to the salon every week
& let women make a cake 
of my skull. read a magazine
about sadness. a finger food platter
is floating from my shoulder to yours.
my great aunt's hair
is tall & curly & white. 
we were saved by a clip-on earring
before we had dinner. please wait
to be seated. what kind of brother
steals from his brother's wallet?
i'm taking IDs & coins. 
now i'm a real boy.
now i'm a plunderer of pockets.
my teeth are lop-sided like 
the old roofs in town 
or the gravestones up the road.
i am an old plot. if i could
i'd blink the walls of my apartment
anything other than white.
everything is getter larger.
i crave a little control
over aging. my toenails smile. 
they haven't found life on the moon
& i'm beginning to think they won't.
the moon dips herself 
in a cup of milk until she's soft
& manageable. i want to take
the rest of of the year
& just float in a warm pool 
of water. who are you to stop me?
i've noticed a pocket knife shows up
in a lot of my poems even though
i've never had one. there's something
i love about the eagerness
of that device. so, here's
the pocket knife. ready right
beneath my rib cage. peeling open 
& closed. the truth is
the next year already knows us
& what we're capable of. 
threading a bone needle.
boiling a found skull. 
a little morsel of moon.
24 hour salon. hole in a pocket.

santa claus pictures

balance me like a vase on your lap.
i want to hold the lilies
in my mouth. belly full of
ringing water. we were children again 
& december was giving us a rash. 
on all fours,
i ate feed from his hand.
animal me, the boy with 
an elongating tail. wrapping a secret
up in cellophane & setting it
in the back of the fridge next to
an empty pickle jar.
the chair at the table 
mother sets for god. we saw
the ghosts of deer righteously
circling the hole to hell.
he counted my fingers
to be sure. we stepped out
into the snow drift with bare feet
to feel the cold sharpness 
a porch folding itself
into a red napkin. the lilies 
taking their time with death.
i open my mouth 
& all the petal of my lips
wilts & drops. 
how do you determine
which celebration you want 
to nail to the wall?
run in a stocking. torn tendon. 
we shouldn't dwell too much
on what we want. rather we should 
compare notes about the scents
of wood. i think the tree
smells like a weeping game.
chop down a monster. 
two knees made of metal. 
holding hands as we take a chance
on men's synthetic beards.
sew me a face for this.
cross your fingers. tell me
now how you plan to sever. 
make your questions
pocket-sized & edible.
the pine cone hovers where
a heart should be. we take turns 
fearing & listing. cradle envelops 
full of orange & brown 
& red leaves.

are you looking forward to the weekend? 

i'm crawling in
through the smallest window
of a shrinking room.
the shoes by the door are getting lonely.
i can hear the sound of you thinking:
bright whining light. the bracelets 
have their own eyes. walls slick
with day-dreaming. the carpet
the size of a pinky-nail. 
how minute can we be tonight?
hush, there are baby birds
trying to nest in me. 
even the plants have plans tonight.
their roots mingling. 
i'm filling my socks with soil
& walking three miles. 
try not to explain what you want--
just let it smack its head
against the sliding glass world.
hives bristle across my arms.
i am allergic to something 
but i can't pin-point what
though the color maroon
has always made me dizzy.
i want a better place
to lay down where the sunlight
hasn't heard of yet. 
as the room gets smaller
i list what i'd like to keep:
lamp, lover, & ankles. 
outside, the angels don't bother
blessing doorways anymore.
a bird falls dead from the sky
like an envelope. 
sometimes i spit up a key 
or two. my blanket becomes
a sting ray & flies above me.
i have no luck catching it.
room filling with water, i picture
the old fish tank a glow 
with green algae. 
whose life is this i coil in?
whose knuckles & whose humming?
i crave a nice stove 
to set a pot on. i miss the way
you used to carry me down
from the ceiling where i hid.
what happened to those arms?
how do you find me now?
a little fleck of color 
in the midst of a clenching tooth?
you lay open as a veil
in some else's backyard.
i can hear the whoosh
of a baseball flying through 
a cloud. scoop me out.
it's getting tighter. 

sunday school

i'm sending my white knee socks
to the bell tower so they can learn something
about god. one of my toes is crooked
& i wonder which hymn i broke it on.
it's alright though because
rachel & i agree all feet are ugly.
children in sunday school 
are standing on the ceiling
& the blood is rushing to their heads.
someone get them down before
they plummet themselves.
linoleum is holy. neon is holy. 
a bat in the attic wakes from a bad dream
with no one to comfort her.
the mice hold midnight mass
& use cheese for the eucharist.
in fifth grade my sunday school class
learned about the parts of the mass.
i don't remember any of it
but do remember i had a crush 
on a boy with longish hair
& he used to spend the whole class
cracking his knuckles & checking the window
as if someone might be peering in.
the angels have taken the last
five to seven years off entirely. they cover
their ears & say "don't tell me what happens."
the sacristy is waiting for us.
once the eucharist turned 
into a butterfly in my mouth
so i swallowed quickly
before it could escape.
i want someone to teach me 
how to love my own rapid uncertainty.
what am i supposed to do 
with my ankles? i wash the feet
of a demon & tell him
"i'm only doing this to make
my family upset with me."
he shrugs. it's sunday again 
& again & again & i want nothing
to do with it. the children 
in sunday school take turns
kissing in the utility closet.
a nun with a round face
admits defeat & joins the others 
in the attic. i keep a bowl
of ash under my sink 
in case i need to be reminded.
the dust can be so loud.
i peer at it & whisper "hush."

posable figure

i was a wooden darling 
on the shelf of your fascination.
i begged for you to come here & give me 
a posture. your knuckles
like skirt hems. your paper
rolled from the tree. 
the human figure is measurable.
a series of careful spheres
stacked one on top of another.
you foraged for my geometry.
pulled my nose from the grave.
sharpened a pencil 
with a steak knife & put
a thumb to my mouth. 
all the lamps in the world 
own your secrets now about shadow.
i'll keep my head lifted
so you can scoop the dark
from beneath my chin.
how did you know you wanted
to be a puppet-keeper? i knew
i wanted to be a figure 
from as little as a twig. i stood still
in the woods, hoping 
to be turned to stone. 
keep me this thin & believable.
make a beautiful portrait of me
with the long hair i don't have.
shave me down to the elbows.
leaning on tables. writing 
an iris on a napkin & wiping 
your mouth with it.
the truth was my femur.
all the bones inside a blue.
what will you use to measure
my wing span? you spend
too much time staring the ceiling 
to pieces. i want you 
to crave that image of me.
stay up all night 
to get me perfect. discover me
in the depths of your own mouth.
pluck my leaves from the floor
tracked in the house 
by your own aimless shoes.
oh, will you keep me then?
will you try again. move me,
i want to mirror 
the fancy dangling behind you face
like a scheme of vines. 

a map of yesterday & last year 

i've been curtain frolicking.
now you see me & now the living room
is severed in two. i'm stealing ice cream
from god tonight & not caring
what his plans were for it.
a great party is being postponed again.
the boy with the flute is queer
& i love him so i dm him on instagram 
but he never responds. how does anyone
find the right angel? i have tried
harvesting feathers from 
the graveyard. my dog's teeth fall out
one by one. i'm saving them
to construct a backup dog.
the machine knows my name now 
so i walk the supermarket with 
a black bag over my head, 
feeling the apples to make sure
they're good & glossy.
the execution was seamless. no one
noticed a thing. winter dries 
my heart out into an apricot thumb.
how long do frogs sleep? gnats?
the rash always forms in the shape
of pennsylvania. little geographic
reminder. nothing is real 
but especially not states.
a cake in the shape of rhode island 
arrives on my back door step
& i enjoy it with a tiny spoon.
birds are singing in a dead chimney. 
i make an extra place setting 
for the bear i'm afraid of.
he sits down & eats with perfect manners.
here's my grandmother
coiled like a metal spring 
in the living room. i tell he
i need my own space-- that i'm not
that kind of grand child.
she leaves dolls on every shelf. 
i've taken to bathing 
in boiling pots of water.
tuck my knees in like
the other eggs.
the tub is full of oranges anyway.
when you arrive, will you 
check on this mirage?
shake me like a tube of sand.
there's a gold ring somewhere
i'll be stepping through
to make an exit. 
tell jupiter i'm sorry. tell the backdoor
the cake was delicious. 

ShopRite

on a friday night after work
i let the gps pull my green volvo 
from the driveway of the house on grant avenue.
i never knew anywhere by heart
so used the device for 
mundane locations: grocery store
school gym laundry mat.
dull yellow headlights. the streets 
always bulged in mineola.
do you really live somewhere 
if you can't move without directions?
stoplight after stoplight.
collecting turn signals. i traveled
alone & wondered what my life was.
i would do anything now to crawl back
into those early nights
when the sight of the train 
still ignited wonder in me.
drifting through long island towns
with wider questions.
the strange excitement of 
that tiny shoprite parking lot. stray carts
nudging into each other. 
cracked pavement. looking for
a caramel swirl pint of ice cream.
wandered aimless. an 80s pop song
crooning over the intercom.
crinkle of bags being loaded into carts.
a grocery store 
will always be my favorite liminal space. 
clutching my phone.
wonderfully alone. a bag of 
frivolous groceries in the backseat 
driving back to the sound
of my clattering engine.
stop and go. a right turn.
a left. lines of cars on the highway.
opening the window
just a sliver to feel a slit of air.
sitting in the driveway 
much longer than i needed to
feeling too old at twenty-two. 
friday night deepening
like a well of wanting or needing.
i can never tell the difference
between the two.

McDonalds Funland Birthday

i want to be settled for.
i don't need to be a first choice
for anything. it's okay 
if i'm not craved or coveted. 
in the end, 
all those immediate yearnings vanish.
like a mcdonalds, 
i will be reliably melancholy
& ready to celebrate it.
paper party hated & sent 
into the wilderness. my childhood 
was thick as frosting.
neighbor kids with their 
paper wrapped hands & french fry tusks.
the plastic blue slide 
intestine twisted. we went down
on our backs. arms crossed
like coffin-bodies. celebrate each
miniature death. swam the ball-pit.
spat out the planet.
gum-balled our way between each other.
i liked to pretend
the mcdonalds was a space ship
& we were all (thankfully)
going to blast off soon. no impending
teenageness. just children
with all our children judgements
& children sadness. did you know
i used to cry over the moon?
reader, i still do. 
if it weren't weird
i would probably still visit
mcdonalds funlands & plea 
for lift off. it's okay 
if you never think of me
past noon-- only wake up 
with an inkling i might 
be only a few tongues away.
keep me in a back pocket.
i can be the backup plan
when all other celebration fails.
turn over the hyper drive lever.
spill the ice cream.
sing the song with the candle halos.
how old?
how old are you now?
how old are you now?

animal crossing fireworks 

it's november & the world is tired
of its mistakes. my brother & i 
talk on the phone about 
going to sleep for a whole year
to see where that arrives us.
he's just bought tea cups. he sets 
the vessels in a line on the windowsill.
soon we will both be home for thanksgiving 
where we will pass the some worries
back & forth & call that siblinghood. 
i am laying on my back 
on the matted lavender carpet 
trying to keep talking to him
while i video game dream 
about animal crossing. 
my sandwich-thick blue DS. 
it's dim glow in the dark 
of my childhood bedroom. shutting
the music off. silent miniature town. 
shake a tree for peaches.
a mouthful of fish. 
butterfly glinting in a jar
on my desk. nothing dies 
inside a digital. i go
into the game settings & change 
that early winter night 
to july 4th. i move the time ahead too.
wake up in a refreshed town. 
ready for fireworks. cross my legs.
wish for futures full
of stone & river. the fireworks
red & yellow glow. a promise
of malleable time. i can tell myself
soon it will be july & the air
will notice me again. 
i ask my brother how long
winter will be & he lists 
the months. sits at his desk.
glances out his own slightly fogged window.
without me, my town is alive.
my town is august & june &
morning in april. my town is
harvesting tulips. oribiting
a may pole. on my last walk of the night
i check on the stars like you might check
on a sibling. 
they are there. 

how to repair a vein / good girl genesis 

the grandmother comes
to help my root cellar. eats a staircase.
uses her nose to cut walls
like a shark fin. what do you know
about heredity? about what is 
slide from bone to bone &
from blood to blood? she drums 
her long fingers on the window
to signal she wants to be let in.
i close my eyes. we must never
see the grandmother lest all our genes 
come undone. i'm already 
unraveling enough. leave a thimble
on the porch. collect
stray strings for her workings.
i dream of a grandmother gift--
that one day she'll find favor with me
& leave me a new door i can sneak
into summer with. warm knob.
on the other side of a fire
i'll be a girl again. 
in my teeth i'll clutch a wrench.
spend all night mending a vein.
how am i supposed to be 
a child still with all this glass?
i cut my feet every day on 
the sharp edges of my desires.
a tree grows from the sink 
& spits pollen into the air.
rain washes the windows over & over
to some unknown end. 
an adult tooth falls out 
& i flush it down the toilet
so that the grandmother 
doesn't see i'm deteriorating. 
she does her puzzles on the ceiling:
picture of a mid-day park. picture
of a baby's hand. i say a prayer
to her-- tell her i'm trying
very hard. i knit my own vessels.
i drink only water blessed 
by a planet. still i am sinking 
in the floor boards. 
she braids my hair while i sleep. 
a rope to clutch. a trap door 
into my skull where the rivers 
do nothing but weave. 
i talk to the grandmother,
i say "will you tell me a story
about when you were 
only a sliver?"