potluck but with dirt

everyone brings their own
dug from the yard
bought from big warm bags at the hardware store
scooped from beneath a favorite tree
cull from under a bed
removed from the floor of a closet 
ladled from the park with a silver spoon 
the guests arrive on my porch 
carrying pales & fine china.
no one talks. 
everyone looks stoic because they've never
done this before.
pour out their containers on the carpet
one at a time & i eye up the selection.
my favorite type of dirt 
is rich dark soil, the kind you 
want to plant you hands in
& see what they might grow into 
if left with that texture for too long.
we add layers till the floor is thick
with different blotches on dirt
outside the trees peer in & are jealous.
we're not sure why we're doing this
at least not yet. 
i never knew any of these people
i just made a flyer that said
"dirt potluck" & they came. 
some plant their eyes, removing them
carefully with their shovels or spoons.
some plant a tooth, making
a hole in the dirt to place it.
others, like me want to bury
more than just appendages.
i take whole photograph & cover them
& then i move on to necklaces & rings
& vases & coffee mugs & books--
all tucked under dirt.
the thing about a potluck is there's 
something for everyone
the dirt mingles & urges each
object to burst-- 
leaves, necks, wings.
my objects because a skeleton
in the dirt & we work to dig it up
while other people's body parts
become a see-saw, a fig tree,
& a lamp post. the potluck seems
just like none sense
like a strange mishap
but it was what we needed &
me & the other people weep
for our dirt.
we lay down in our dirt
& feel the warmth wriggling through 
feel the dirt almost as another being.
i take fistfuls of dirt & fill my pockets.
the guests follow my lead & do the same,
helping each other get ready to 
remove what they have grown. 
i should have asked for help cleaning up
but then there's more soil for me 
& i reach in to see one 
of those great bones peer out at me. 

on the curb i watch the steam coming from a manhole cover 

a bowl of mircowaved soup below the city
i try to guessed the flavor
from the steam. 
or maybe it's a baked potato 
with mist coming from two fork holes in the side.
microwaved potatoes never cook evenly
but i never cook them twice.
i chew through the raw bits
warm but crunchy.
underneath the city a woman lives alone.
she loves to cook 
but all the recipes are for big families.
she doesn't want a big family but 
sometimes she sets a table 
with food at every station
pretending some guests don't like 
the spinach & others want only white chicken breast.
she wraps the plates up to eat later.
the steam turns into yarn
gray strings sticking out of the manhole cover.
i tug on one & a bell rings.
coffin bell i think yes let me out
of this box.
by box i mean city because the city 
is very small 
& holds so many people.
i counted twenty seven just
in my subway car. after i counted them
they turned into moths. 
i said farewell. 
the woman who lives down there 
just wanted some of her own space.
she doesn't have a sofa 
so she sits on a plastic box of 
her old shoes she won't throw away.
i lift the manhole cover
to follow the yarn. bloom of steam
smelling of broth.
chicken noodle soup
maybe she's sick i think.
but she's not & her house
is also a box with no windows.
she's scared to have a guest 
so i lay on the floor flat out
like a bug so maybe she won't notice.
she doesn't at first
taking me for another one of those 
baby roaches but then i sneeze
& she laughs at how silly she was
to think a whole human was an insect.
we eat from the same microwaved bowl
& she tells me how she works remotely
& doesn't have to leave her bed room.
i tell her i'd like a job like that
but also that i wouldn't mind 
actually being an insect
in her home. she says she would feed me
& treat me kindly. she doesn't mind bugs.
they're quiet & shiny.
i become quiet & shiny though still
not a bug. we finish the soup 
& i follow the grey yarn back out.

how to eat a shadow with everyone watching 

my shadow becomes so ripe
that fruit flies gather
singing their radio static into the house.
i want to kill them like i usually do
but there's something human about them today.

i scoop out the seeds from my shadow
like a pumpkin
great handfuls of flat black seeds
knotted with flesh
fingers scraping skin & the flies 
inching closer
each trying to play a different song 
from their mouths 
as if there were 
a pile of speakers  
turned small & buzzing.

everyone has been telling me i should eat 
my shadow but i was scared.
i watched it swell everyday 
heavy with syrup & nectar.
it grew more detailed too 
sometimes my shadow had eyes
& other days it had finger nails.

the branches of dead trees tell us 
if you let your shadow go too long
it will live your life for you--
wrapping its fingers around your wrists
& pulling you onto the ground.

i set the shadow on the cutting board
& i use the largest knife i have 
even though i could easily just use
a paring knife.
i want to feel in charge.

the flies sit in rows watching
hoping to catch flecks of sugary water
as i slice.

the shadow stares up at me
& i try not to look. 
i tell the shadow i am sorry 
& that i wish things were different
& that i could let it grow into a full human
with hair & teeth & eyes.

i eat chunks as i work
& the shadow tastes like a peach with
the texture of a watermelon.
grey-ish juice down me arms 
the flies ask if they can kiss me 
& i say no but they're persistent
with their long blue tongues.

the shadow is deeper than
it looks on the outside.
in the final bites
as i eat it's face 
it starts to cry & i tell it 
i loved its company 
& i imagine all the days 
walking home from the train 
with my likeness stretched tall 
on the sidewalk outside.

the flies lick the counter top
& go back to singing their different songs.
i plant a seed from the shadow
in the floor boards so another on 
can grow while i sleep under the
sweet glow of the street lamps.

i pretend robocalls are from people i miss 

1. Baldwin, NY 11:49am
i've been waiting for you to call
for so long. on nights in august
i think of the times i canceled 
our plans, how i kept a closet
full of sparklers & never used
a single one because i bought
them for us. my bed room 
has no windows now & so i imagine 
you carving one out of the drywall
with your pocket knife.

2. Santa Rosa Beach, FL 1:34pm 
there's a scar on my neck 
from where you bit me. i touch it
when i look at myself in the bathroom mirror,
pretend that it's a rewind-button & 
my body is just a cassette player
tangled with noise-ribbons. 
you plugged your bass into my mouth
& sang a song about loving me.
you had strong hands eager to 
yank any door off its hinges though
you never did so in front of me.
our sex felt like young lions 
wrestling in the brush. 
i bit your ear, you bit my neck. 

3. Aberdeen, MD 4:00pm
anytime someone passes me who smells 
like tropical fruit i think of 
your curly hair & your blue blue backyard pool.
how i sat on the edge while you swam.
the muscles on your back making 
moths with their sculpture. you would
change bathing suites all through 
the afternoon & i loved each iteration,
landscapes printed onto your body:
blue, burst of pink flowers, safari trees.
i wore bikinis to keep up with you
but they always made me feel naked,
like something was going to cut me open.

4. Bath, PA 9:05pm
you were a basket of ripe strawberries
that needed to be eaten right now.
my fingers on your cheeks,
pressing through the skin. freckle seeds.
one after another before you were gone
& i was just another pair of fingers.
i was gentle with the leaves on 
your head. index finger & thumb 
i plucked them off & let them 
drift to the floor like eye-lashes.

5. unknown 11:11pm 
the carnival's light dropped to 
into dark grass like hard candies.
you stood there letting the illuminations
flutter over your skin. i thought
we could be friends & we could 
go swimming in the pond even though
it was covered with a layer of 
wonderful green muck. for weeks
i thought of how we locked eyes,
neither one willing to be the first
to break away. i invent names for you.
i place dandelions in your hair:
one behind your ear, others to make 
a crown, & one for me to put in my mouth.

my boyfriend & i watched the lawn grow 

they put planks in Xs across
the windows of the corner house.
we stood on the curb
across the street to stare at the emptied structure.
greenish mold grew on the siding.
we paused each day in hopes
one of us might think of a question to ask each other.
in high school, after you've dated someone
more than 6 months there's not much
else to say. we paced his neighborhood
& kissed & kissed & kissed. 
first the lawn grew scraggled like the day 
you decide you need a haircut 
& i insisted on standing closer
so that i could lean down & touch it.
prickly color. green texture. 
i wanted to lay down in it with him
despite the buzz & the thrum of the insects
surely hiding between blades.
next time the grass had swelled as high 
as our hips as if it were 
a great viridian pond. 
we could wade in & take off our clothes,
watch the grass swallow my dress
& his shorts as we crouched down
dipped our heads under.
maybe we would turn green then
& instantly have wild hair
to fingers through. i said noting
as we watched the wind make ripples
in the lawn. he wondered if they were
ever going to come & cut it again.
his voice sounded worried 
as if he knew how much i wanted 
the lawn to burst, to spread.
in real life, the next time we passed
the lawn was trimmed down again
but in this version i'm writing
grass took the sidewalk
grass tore out mailboxes.
grass poured into the cul-de-sac.
we tread water in grass
& grass wraps itself around our bodies.
the grass turns soft 
almost like fingers & it coaxes 
everything out of us. 
i tell him i don't believe in god 
even though i've always pretended to for him.
he tells me dreams of my body
wrapped in plastic in a box like a doll
he dreams of me sleeping inside 
a crock pot waiting for him
i imagine him building a house for us 
where we both have separate rooms.
i see him picking apricots
& hurling their pits at my forehead
all the while the grass pulls us down deeps 
& the ants frolic between stalks 
& the grass is a forest & 
the house with the boarded up windows
is the one we will share.

what did people talk about at public executions?

water. tulips. i have a brother.
today while sitting in the park
i heard a person walking by say 
i have to fuck Mike i just have to
& a few minutes later another said 
tomorrow is at least a thursday
tomorrow is at least a thursday.
zucchini blossoms are surprisingly bright
like if a flame decided that it needed 
a flower with its name.
i'm standing in the crowd with 
a zucchini blossom in my mouth.
everyone with different flowers 
in their mouths
some people with two. 
hydrangea. carnation. daffodil. 
oil in the pan. you can fry flowers 
& they'll taste more like skin than plant.
pigs are terrifying
& somewhere they are almost-human screaming.
the pop & crackle of oil.
we're standing in the pan until
our hooves are golden brown. 
thursday stands up & stretches
it's long green legs before 
moving to a patch of shade
& curling up like a dog. i point & say aloud
yes there is tomorrow right over there.
the guillotine was messy & ropes
strung up people like dolls made of rock.
i don't know why i'm thinking about this.
every day i watch crowds of people
pours out of buildings & need
a way of making them all stand still.
i stand with a swarm of flowers 
& ask passers by to open their mouths
so i can stick one in. i also 
want to fuck Mike whoever he is
not for pleasure but so i can tell him
that i've heard about him
that people in the park talk about him aloud
all sorts of brothers coming out
of her mouth. i tell him he should come down
& stand in a flood of people with me.
mud slide. firework. lighter.
& then when it was over what did they say?
to each other? to the rocks?
to the pigs? more flowers yes
that's all you can do. 
i pull the whole zucchini 
out of my mouth
yes thank god thank god tomorrow is thursday.

i've loved a lot of jungle gyms

invited them into my house to sleep
even though they should sleep outside
where they can get 
their nightly serving
of ripe stars & headlights.
i have crumpled jungle gyms 
into balled up pieces of paper.
i have filled bowls with mulch 
& poured them on my bed room floor 
in the hopes a slide might grow 
beside my bed by morning. 
criss-crossing bars to hang from
i dangle upside down 
from a jungle gym
in my closet where all my clothes
turn into children to play on the bars.
one child doesn't climb.
is afraid of heights. 
i never understood that. 
i've always
been afflicted with wanting 
to climb out open windows.
a jungle gym pacing in the hallway
hungry but too tired to leave.
a jungle gym taking up half the bed 
& i am falling asleep & climbing anyway.
i go outside 
& feed on stars & headlights
greedy handfuls. all mine
not sharing. my clothing scampering 
on the sidewalk & singing 
inaudible rhymes 
jumping invisible rope.
i try to join but they snarl
& run. a slide blooms where 
we once had the big staircase up
to our apartment so i have to climb up
on my hands & knees. 
squeak of the plastic slide. 
the moon tries to crawl in after me
& it's lucky it's a half-moon
or else it wouldn't fit. 
thick strong fingers. knuckles 
like door hinges. a jungle gym 
howling at the door frame.
a jungle gym raiding the fridge.
me stroking the jungle gyms
& telling them calm down & 
even metal has to sleep.
this makes them furious. 
how dare i tell them how use a skeleton.
i tell them a story 
about each boy i've loved 
& they are horrified & decide
they will never love anyone. 
the clothing children
hang themselves back up on hangers
& the sun kisses the moon boldly
on its neck. scared & ravenous 
the jungle gyms beg me to tell them 
all my favorite memories of their bodies.
how could i not?
i re-trace myself. i remember myself 
with softer skin. 
i kiss cool foreheads & threaten them
with jumping out the window.
they beg me not to.
each slides down the slide to leave 
& when they're gone i miss them.
i got out the next night to see them
playing in the splotches of grass 
by the parking lot. they laugh 
with swing-set tongues.

open house

in the next town over from us 
all the houses are mansions
with sprawling front lawns
i would like to lay in. 
not because i need or want to be rich but
maybe because deep down we've been trained want.
i imagine glass windows & window chimes on a porch.
all kinds of people come park
their cars on the side of the road 
to peer out at the mansions,
rolling down their windows
for a moment or two, like a safari,
as if the mansions are these huge 
animals worth taking photographs of.
as if they're all just sleeping here.
last week there was a sign for 
an open house & 
you joked we should go 
pretending we wanted to buy. 
my glance lingered over 
deep plum-colored shutters 
wide glass windows 
tall wooden fence with a latched gate.
i want to take out the organ in me
that makes me want all the terrible things.
what i didn't tell you was that 
i went to the open house all alone
to meander
in the body of a mansion 
while couples with shiny expensive bodies 
glinted around each room asking
questions about dimensions & space.
the realtor was a hologram
& she smiled more with each question.
i don't think she saw me 
because the open house ended 
& i was still there, haunting 
the terrifying openness of it all.
room after room after room
floating like a helium balloon 
on its way to sleep.
i crawled in the master bed room closet 
& imagined a house only as big
as the space, imagined sleeping 
in the drawer under the stove
where we keep the cookie sheets & pans.
i fear that if i leave so will all 
the strange wonder i got to have.
i invite guests to my not-house 
& i tell them fake stories about a family
who isn't home. two kids. one boy. one girl.
a wife who likes to bake lemon bars
when i'm not home. i don't want these things
but i have to lie about them once
to make them into moths.
back at home in our apartment no one asks were i was 
as if no time has passed at all.
i pace the hallway up & down 
as if to measure how much room we're allowed
to take up. we're all laying
in the front lawn of not-our house
looking up at not-our tree. deep green.
leaves fall from the ceiling.

grapes in your uncle's suitcase 

a baseball thrown at the moon
so many times that it sticks & becomes
a very small planet
the tree picking up the recyclables
from the grass & tisk tisk tisking
about the family who didn't
have time to put them away.
it's going to snow tomorrow
at least that's what they're saying
unless it comes down as parmesan cheese
again & we'll all walk out 
& hold up our bowls of spaghetti 
above our heads.
one boy cupping his hands
ate just the cheese
salty on his fingers.
people have started sweating neon
& glowing all through the night.
no one can sleep. 
all the neighborhood children
are making up new rules for soccer 
this time you have to 
dislodge a real planet if you 
want to call it a goal. 
the tired kid always plays goalie 
& climbs up on a roof
trying to protect the night sky.
this town is vanilla bean flavor.
there is an invasive species 
of loud pink flower popping up 
across all the lawns but we all
really love the color. 
we put the flowers behind
our ears & kiss each other goodbye 
even when we're not going anywhere.
all the uncles took
a plane to a uncle convention
on another continent
& we forgot we had uncles.
we got along fine but began 
to feel a tinge of sorrow.
we filled the twinge 
by baking boxed brownies & only
eating the corner pieces
throwing the rest to great big black birds
who arrived only on sunday nights in the town. 
the uncles came back bearing fruit
from another planet. 
wonderful sweet grapes as hard
as cough drops. all the children
wanted to trade their dad 
for these new uncles so many of them did
& ate grapes all night.
they cut out little people shapes
from blue construction paper 
making little version of their families
to hang in the windows but the paper humans
got loose & frolicked in the grass
picking great pink flowers.
the dads were lonely & resorted to 
eating black birds
knocking them out of the sky with 
with their children's old baseballs
& roasting them quietly 
behind their garages where
no one would see them.

we lived in a nest of plates

all unwashed & hovering 
in the sink where the faucet
wriggled itself loose
silver worm 
six water hearts
undulating to the sound
of an ocean far underneath the drain.

salt begging to clean 
each of our faces with a mildewy 
dish rag
i sometimes crawled in there 
to listen to the waves
as i pressed my ear 
to a teacup or the mouth
of glass bottle still sticky with cola

crawling into dish collage
tilted plates
forehead to forehead
the sound of ceramic bowls
& metal utensils 
scraping together
each with dirty tongues.

i found perfect hiding places
& nestled where no other animals
could find me
even escaping the gnats.
threading together the fingers
of forks to make them pray 
& curling up in the stomachs 
of Diet Coke cakes
to drink the last sips 
of soda from the creases
at the very bottom.

watered down soap 
the smell of tired lavender
would creep up to me sometimes
mistaking me for a smudge.
i would hide & try to list 
all the beautiful things in the sink
the different patterns on the bowls 
& the great crystal dishes that 
sometimes found their way there.
the smell of ripe fruit &
careful dripping all over.

everyone else was there of course
we just couldn't see each other
between in the wild of all the dishes.
sometimes i would hear my name called
for dinner or something else
& i would shout back 
only to have my voice 
drank by a collaboration of mugs.
i have brothers i assume
& probably a mother/father combination.

i have an ocean below 
or maybe just a creek but there
is something deep & loud 
underneath the sink. i have only
gone to the drain once 
just to look into it
just to see it's gaping eye.
i told the drain that if 
it wanted to take me in the night
that i wouldn't protest
but that it could never tell anyone else
i said that. 
the drain agreed. 
i dropped food scraps down it as offerings.
the drain choked & swallowed.

if i meet a sibling i 
will pretend like i've never seen
the drain. i will tell him
to take me there & tell me
what he sees in it.
i need to know if it's just me.