all fathers 

all fathers take
their sons to fish in me--
what else is 
an hourglass
for?
blue gills & sulking
bass left over
from the spring
fishing derbies--
they're
kneeling on my banks
while the ducks leave
their feathers
like apologies-- 
on occasion i have
the honor of waking up
as the lake
in fleet wood park--
the one where
the bullfrogs are burrowed
deep in the mud 
by the first frost--
the one who wraps
herself in thick 
green algae come june--
today in my cracked
dinner plate finger nails 
i felt boys tremble
on my rocks--
peering in-- trying
to see themselves--
greeting their own
ghosts surfacing
in my face
balancing--
i keep hoping they'll
fall in & i'll
lift them
with both my arms 
back to the air--
it is january so
the park is empty &
my cheek-bones frozen 
over-- 
cataract-eyed  
& sleepy i let
the feeble skeleton
of the sun press
against me--
is this the feeling 
of being forgotten?
the gradual
shattering of
nails & teeth--
am i becoming a sandbox?
tumbling through
the world's soft
pink fingers--
i never did learn 
to cartwheel but
watch me somersault-- 
is this 
the hardening of
my water into slate?
there we are--
i can see us
my father & i &
billy on crooked-wooden
bench april--
fish hooks snagging 
worms-- billy with
a bag full of potato
rolls to toss
to ducks--
my father's
appetite for silence
brings a hush 
over the trees 
as they hold in another
sigh-- 
casting out-- 
hooks
dipping into my
skin-- i am so lucky
to be able
to live
a second life 
as quiet water-- 
rewind my own knees--
my own father's 
thick hands--
i am 
(of course)
careful not to
laugh so they don't
fall in 
i dream of 
what it would feel like
to have them swim
in me-- 
their memories
as air bubbles--
their wet shoes &
baseball caps--
reaching into me
with 
invisible fish lines
we make our own
telephone
wires to speak--
finger on
the line-- they
hear me breathing
in the ripple 
of the surface--
often i am mistaken
for a fish on
the line--
i can't help it--
i am so eager 
for them to be
here--  
but it is january
& i am tired 
& there are
foot prints in
the sandbox
from feral cats 
& the occasional
brother--
passing through
in blue 
sandals--
i only wish sometimes
that
the hooks do something
other than just
pass through me--
i miss the 
pain of skin--
the audacity of
wearing
illegible skin
i go back here when i
feel like there's
no where left--
when i want
to feel simple again--
squish potato
rolls between my
fingers &
cast out
again & again--
take your sons
to fish in me--
reel in my body--
the blue-lipped
boy who tried
so hard to 
grow gills &
somehow became
an unassuming
man-made lake 
for everyone's father
to teach them how
to fish

i'm imagining 
you reading this
on the bus-- head 
against the window
while the city plays
itself like film reel--
the snow is melting
& i'm right there
with it--
when i started my
car last night 
it breathed fog
from its mouth
like a dragon--
there are so many
dragons out
there tonight--
shaking street salt
off their bones--
this poem is crawling
into bed with you--
this poem is
making too many promises
this poem is me
sitting across
from you on the bus
without knowing 
it-- our bodies--
reject gravity
& determine
to meet-- oh
somewhere you 
are off being
soft without me--
i'll show you
how i melt--
i'll show you 
how an object
enters the atmosphere--
have i told
you how much 
i love sidewalk chalk
or about how
sometimes
i believe
the moon is following
me-- moving
clouds
to peer down 
at my queer body 
fishing for
broken headlights--
maybe i'm right
& maybe you 
will read this
poem on a bus--
i am a radio
tower-- blinking
red with 
anticipation--
my hands are
cold & waiting
to turn over
stones under your
skin-- if the power
goes out
we can make mischief--
cut free the 
stars so
they can live out
their august
dreams of 
being fire flies
even if only
for a night--

9 degrees
outside-- wind 
striking matches
on my red face--
punishing us 
for holding hands 
while she is so
vast & cold & lonely--
tonight i envy the 
weather of Pennsylvania--
how unforgivingly 
volatile she lives--
inflicting all kind
of sadness--
i think of how
winter has a way 
of making me want
to be smaller
& maybe it's because
i'm discovering
the thinness of
my own skin--
my own body a piece
of orbit--
there must 
(of course)
be smaller galaxies
to live in--
i opened the door
of my closet to find
a spiral one had 
taken shelter there--
ripping my sweaters 
from their hangers--
eating left socks &
snapping my candles--
clumsy playing with
matches--
i tell him 
he can stay as long
as he doesn't
get bigger-- as
long as he 
remains small 
enough to sleep
in my palm--
& he promises &
i know he's lying--
we are all so incapable
of stillness--
even now i can
hear the moan
of the door frame 
as he tugs at the hinges--
hungry for
metal nails & 
brass nobs-- 
he is so young but
tonight
he will grow 
too large for 
my ceiling--
i ask him if
i can try it-- if 
i can try life as
a tiny comet
or meteor or moon
& he laughs
because we both
know it would
never work--
he knots my socks
before
he leaves out
the windows in
a cascade of frost
& for a moment
i leave the
windows open to
let the largeness of
the house breathe--
i yawn too--
i wonder how
many suns there
are caught
in my teeth--
i want to let
myself live
on smaller galaxies 
on nights
like this-- 
orbit quickly--
watch the sun
leap frog
from
horizon to horizon--
blink nights
away--
pirouette--
walk outside
in cold january
so the weather 
can be less alone-- 

chandelier street light dream

this is a sleepless poem--
a mouth kissed hungry full
of questions-- 
what dreams do you 
remember when you are
alone? 
the ones vivid
enough to walk back to?
does your story have
a prologue-- 
an author's note?
a dedication page?
oh if we were books
this would be so simple--
spine to spine on
a shelf-- 
book mark me-- 
i don't number 
my pages-- i have
an index made of 
smooth stones--
right now my heart is 
left with your foot
prints-- you pace the
ceilings of my eyelids--
i grip a glass chandelier 
in my teeth-- faint clink
of crystal on crystal--
you had to have
know you were laying
yourself down into
a poem being so
damn beautiful--
here alone i think
about everything i 
want to know about you--
how would you 
describe the taste
of snow?
when was the last
time you stood ankle-deep
in water?
do you still believe 
in the ocean?
i'm filling the planets
with air again at the 
gas station
up the street from 
my house-- 
they've been shrinking-- 
i can't
stop them from turning
back into pennies--  
oxidizing on our sidewalks--
let's be teal & wild--
let's break windows
with baseballs--
let's tear up
the floor boards
to make a campfire--
steal the night sky
for a tent-- 
shadow puppet
me into a parable--
the parable of the boy
turned into
a statue in the
frozen heat of january--
when was the last time
you let your heart
become a storm cloud?
do you have thunder in you?
a blizzard? the 
audacious hum of sleet?
when i come down
i fall all at once--
a summer bass drum--
cymbal-tongued--
have i told you about
how much i used to sing
in the shower
& how i hid bubble gum
beneath my pillow?
next time i see
you i hope i get
to hold you longer--
open umbrellas
in your rib cage--
there are so many eyes
in this storm i forget
that somewhere again it
is raining-- i have
a pocket full of 
change that was once
all the planets
in the solar system--
let's meet on mars--
red & loud--
i can buy you 
a parking meter,
a 23 hour day, &
every street lamp
on your block to kiss
under-- 
i haven't opened
your medicine
cabinet but i assume
that's where you keep
your constellations--
the sky tucked
behind your reflection--
next time you go
to sleep take
a handful of dimes--
spend me on a highway--
oh if my hair
was long again i could
follow it home--
there are beds somewhere
on the moon you know
& maybe even 
a nightlight?
what i mean to say
is i'm awake &
it's too late
to un-write this
poem i've been living
it's about meeting you &
i can't decide if
you're meant
to read it yet--
we happen in fragments--
in rear view mirrors--
parallel parked
on a stop sign--
this city was
a chandelier--
laughing as 
i left it-- 
does your mouth
write poems without you?
do you think of
holding me like
i think 
of holding you?

werewolf: an origin story

first kiss--
first hand slide down
the back of my jeans--
first boy who
left his shadow 
plastered on
brick walls--
oh, is there always a first
of everything?
a first human & egret 
& blue whale?
each a handfuls of bones 
finding each other--
following sinews &
together
taking a deep ragged
breath-- jaws 
snatching a fist
of air--
all the animals
birth from the
collaboration 
of carbon--
born from god's
great wooden spoon--
who stirred you?
measured you 
out into the metal
mixing bowl--
i remember the small 
soft hands of my 
mother as she kneaded
down dough on the floured
counter top--
let the yeast inhale--
taller & taller
i think werewolves
of are different--
less of a species
& more a kind of 
organ-- a kind
of midnight--
he had a way
of chewing me
when we kissed--
a way of breaking
me down to 
bite-sized pieces--
horderves--
my bones were
a bag of marbles
& in my room 
was the first place
i felt the howl--
starting
beneath the skin-- 
a sort
of quake in each
hair follicle--
an involuntary 
refusal of silence--
ripped open my lips--
howling till
my windows shattered
& the moon too
was an open mouth
biting between
hot hot stars--
spitting them
out as fire--
once this began
i could feel
them stalking 
inside him-- 
their yellow eyes
& thick thick 
brown fur--
they were there
in the way he 
grabbed me by
a handful of hair--
in his parasitic
kisses across
my neck & the 
heavy animal
smell of his bare
body-- 
our sweat in the summer
was a kind of
rain-- in it
thunder & the 
baying of dormant fur--
i could see
his canines only
as white flashes
as he came up for
air from inside me--
this is in fact
a first love poem--
this is in fact about
the betrayal 
of our own skin
& the mischievous
laugh of full moons
& the clawing
that paced
until they scratched 
open our chests--
there was a strength
to his grip
that was at times
inhuman & 
at times gentle
& unknowing--
i let my body
fade into a comma--
a coiled pause
on the floor of
a bed room 
no longer my own--
i love my werewolf--
i love how she 
taught me 
how to drink 
the white milk
of the moon--
shouted my
skin monstrous 
& unafraid--
a kind of howl
that snapped
the necks of
all the trees he
had ever made me
fuck him under--
& still when
i feel small
sometimes i howl--
shake the earth
just enough
to remind myself
how loud my body
is-- oh this
is a story about
how monstorous
you are--
this is a story
about the moon
& a story 
about watching for
the flash of
his sharp canines--
eyes yellow
as candles

the taste of snow

being snowed in
alone makes
me think of
everyone you
could//should
be snowed in
with-- 
there you are,
sitting on
the kitchen counter
while i chop 
yellow & red cherry
tomatoes-- there
you are again
standing on
the ceiling-- you
always were the type
to laugh a gravity--
i'll be down here--
pacing down
the spines of
these books--
ricochet of
my own thoughts
off the white walls--
it was subtle 
but the house itself
was my body &
your body &
the knees of my
grandmothers--
the rear view mirror
of blue jeep that
feel off years ago--
i opened the bathroom
window to feel
the brisk 
blush of air as 
the foundation
left earth--
look what you've done--
you've gone & 
un-tethered us--
no creek or snap
of pipes-- this is
a certain type
of being alone--
this is the kind of  
alone where the faucets
start to 
know your name
& the shower head
bleeds meteors--
hot fire rocks down
the drain--
i wash myself
in comets that leave
bruises on my
back-- you come
in with me & push
me against the 
misty wall--
bite my neck
like licorice rope--
i need to know
if you were here
tonight or 
if i conjured you
from my own loneliness--
if you were really 
there-- meandering
across the ceiling--
pointing out
the spider webs
full of dried
moths-- 
i have been thinking
about how 
this snow changes 
me-- the kind
of terrified nostalgia--
i see myself
as a little girl
on all fours crawling
across
the backyard--
i am also a fox  
or a wolf--
i see myself
building a snowman
for a father--
he has one course  
red mitten
& a fleece scarf--
he spits out bottle
caps that get lost
in the driveway--
she eats snow
from her bare pink
hands-- like cotton
candy & from
the window
i imitate her--
taste steel 
& aluminum foil--
was that you on
the third floor?
were you walking 
back & forth?
come down here
& wrap yourself
in covers with
me-- we don't 
have to remember who
we are to each other--
we'll swallow
snow & watch
ourselves
becoming 
more alone as
the window 
peels off our
front step--
oh how vivid
the sun will look
when she finds her
way out from
behind the 
grey-- i hope
you're here
when i wake up-- 
whoever you are

trust 

i woke up
in the dark cold
of the freezer--
this will preserve
things-- down
here time moves
slower-- between
the raw
chicken thighs
& shoe-string potatoes
i turn over--
last night 
i saw they
were calling for
snow & i thought
i could think
my way out of it--
thought that maybe
there was some
way i could
prevent
the inevitable
freezer door
from
shutting on my house--
prevent this stillness
in my body--
i'm terrified  
most by snow's promise
of early silence--
of immobility &
patience--
how dare a sky
be so patient for
me-- 
i drew
a thermostat 
in the driveway
& told it to
be summer--
shouted into
the milky grey
clouds to thunder--
to pour hot steam--
under my covers 
i pictured
the heat 
reverberating
off the sidewalk from
a distance--
as if i alone
could control
the arrival of
the a season &
somewhere i
felt spring
stir beneath 
the layers of
white sheets--
mouth full of
bulbs & rain--
she thought
i was amusing--
the tiny mortal
boy on the back
stoop-- rubbing
his hands together 
& stuffing them
into his pockets--
nose & cheeks
a dull gala-apple
red--
i think heaven
is certainly
made of snow--
that kind of
light snow
that is so 
wild that 
it doesn't even
stick to your skin--
blows around
like sand dunes
or pollen--
the windows
bloom with 
snow angle
kisses--
i do enjoy the
morning--
the holy morning
before the snow
blowers start
chewing
into our muscles--
the time
when time moves
so slowly that
the snow simply
hangs in the air--
where i stare up
from where 
i lay & wait
for someone
to open the
freezer door
so that the light will
turn on--
Billy is probably
going
to make those
yellowish frozen
waffles--
unknowingly he
may push me aside
to grab them--
only to
shut the door again
& i'll be here
in the intimate
dark--
believing
down through
layers of
white-- burrying
myself beside
the brisk
body of spring--
she kisses
my throat
full of
salt-- her teeth
yellow from
daffodils--
beneath my
boots the driveway
is gritty
from rock salt--
i melt down
to my knees--
to my hips--
past my forehead--
oh if only
i could have talked
the sky out of this--
instead i'll lay
here in bed--
packed in ice--
preserved--
safe from 
the nasty tongues
of time--
blue & reptilian--
do you trust
the snow?
i think i do--
at least i'm trying--

if i inject
 enough air
 into my veins
 will i float?
 rise like a
 tired balloon to
 the ceiling of
 my bed room--
 drift to
 the corner
 where the spiders
 build their
 summer homes--
 while i sat
 on the examination
 table--
 feeling like
 a slice of
 deli turkey
 with the crunch
 of wax paper
 beneath me--
 the doctor
 explained
 that i must
 be careful
 to get out
 the air bubbles
 in the needle--
 it's terrifying
 really--
 how less
 than a breath
 worth of
 air causes
 embolism-- death
 by silent--
 hapless air--
 pink bubble
 bath-- blooming
 behind
 my eyes-- i
 open my mouth
 to follow
 the bubbles
 upwards--
 chase them into
 the sun--
 my blood
 boiling into
 steam--
 a red mist
 like the chalky
 lips of mars--
 i leave
 kisses
 on the back of
 alcohol swabs--
 wipe
 away the blood
 from the needle--
 if i die
 like this
 at least
 i'll be lighter--
 at least
 i'll finally
 prove
 the moon &
 the sun are
 nothing more
 than pocket
 change--

someone 

my thighs
are getting thicker--
maybe it's how
long i've sat 
at my desk or
maybe i'm becoming
a tree trunk--
veins
thickening into bark--
it's been too
long since
i caressed the torso
of a tree-- 
drew my finger
across the divets
that make up
her body-- the road
map for the forest
wrapped around
her rings-- grow
halos inside
your limbs like 
the oak tree-- 
i lost my leaves
dramatically 
in november with
the rest of them--
tell me who do
you become
to escape?
i often think
about who i would
have been if 
i would have somehow
ran away to
the city-- some big
city
with enough lights 
to make up
for the dulled 
night sky--
you of course
tell me you'll 
run away to
the seminary--
i can see you in
your cassock
& wooden cross--
we can't hide 
from the thickenning
of our own blood--
of course we can
make up stories--
right now
i'm making up
a story about 
a family
painting 
birdhouses
& hanging them 
from my earlobes--
maybe cardinals 
will nest here or
blue jays--
maybe here
at my desk
i will grow so
immense 
that i break through
the roof with
the growth
of my limbs--
oh the house will
be cold--
do trees shiver 
or is that just the 
wind?
my point is that
i need to
write this poem
while i still 
can-- i need to
tell you 
that there is no
such thing
as a "real you"
i am just as
much the country
girl who ran away--
neon-souled 
to a big city
& slept on 
a park bench 
as i am the boy
who feels his
body becoming 
a broad & course
sycamore--
feel free to sit
under me & pray
the rosary or
have a picnic--
fall in love with
your own vast arms--
the rings 
inside your
chest-- haunting
yourself with
years--
the callouses 
on your finger--
tips from walking 
a bass line--
sadly
you are uncapable
of being
anyone but yourself--
oh my desk chair
is a bird house
or maybe a 
bench where
i wait for
the septa bus--
don't worry i'm 
not leaving--
one of me is just
thinking about
the view
out the window 
as buildings
break 
into a sprint
& i fall asleep--
face against 
to the window--
breath making
fog--
& there i was
again--
hair full of
cherry blossoms--
catch them--
they'll melt
in your mouth
or is that snow? 
what i'm saying
is that you
can't really escape
becoming 
someone--
what i'm saying
is take
this opportunity 
to be everyone
& when you're done
come back here--
sit beneath
my trunk &
tell me 
tell me
tell me
all about it

2 minutes 

dad tells
me the clock in
our red van 
is 1 hour & 17 minutes 
fast-- 

fierce & digital
green 
the confused numbers
spill themselves
boldly like 
bible verse suggestions--

psalms of the 
back roads where
deers eyes becomes
silver dollars 
in headlights--

he says he's been 
trying to change 
the time-- make it
right but that
he can't find the reset 
button-- 

he probes 
at the clock's
face with his
plastic
finger nails--
tells me to give
it a try

i have a love 
for clocks who
tell white
lies--  

for clocks who
hold still--
pondering a moment--
9:52
8:11
7:24
the times held
holy by
the black hands
of clocks on
the first floor
classrooms--

i love 
the uncertainty
for so much
of my life i 
am more than obsessed
with the words of
clocks--

7:55 wake up
9:00 run
9: 30 run faster 
11:00 coffee
12:30 breakfast 
4:00 eat an apple 
7:01 when i can
eat dinner 
& so on-- 
i traded my god
for the order 
of numbers
for the promise
of time

so i relish 
when the clocks
fail me--

when they laugh
when they stare bold
& untrue

at work 
the clock is 
two minutes fast 
& in military time 

as night comes
earlier & earlier
& the shadows
no longer
cast people

i find myself
walking in that
in-congruent space--

in the gap
between the 
true time & the 
red numbers 
on the counter--

the air is different
here-- less tense--
unafraid--
bold & frozen
wild--

i want to live
here where time
is too busy quarreling
with itself 
to notice me 
being a late body-- 

i walk two minutes 
wide-- leave my
seat-- slip 
into a myriad of
darkness--i cut
across
the snowy field

instead of taking
the pathway home--

when i reach
my room
i re-wind all
my pocket watches--

set three loud
alarms on my phone
(a sort of prayer)

let me wake up
on time-- on time
on a time

oh really if
i could i would
wake up back
in that space

the gap between
your arms &
my psalms-- 

my shadows
cast a body until
i turn off
the over head light  

then i am there--
listening
to the soft
ticking-- 

counting the hours
my body will soon
live unobstructed  
& sovereign