our god of Deisher Lane 

when i was
eleven i could bike
the circumference of
the earth--
tennis balls 
in my pockets--
started top the hill
on Deisher
Lane--
road the momentum
all the way to 
Turkey Hill 
where we stopped 
& you kissed me 
with cold slushie lips--
let's turn blue;
it's october now after all
i paper-clipped
Pokemon cards
to my spokes--
revered the engine  
inside a dream--
plucked leaves
off holly bushes--
the sidewalk contorted 
until it turned to
a gravel trail to drive
through 
all the world's forests--
rubber trees &
taiga & fern--
jaguars chased
the smack smack smack
of my playing card motor
& oh the edge of
the world was
across
the concrete
bridge-- 
the one
that over looked
222-- & the cars
rushed
beneath us like
sea monsters
from 16th century 
cartography--
this is the new world--
this is the edge we'd fallen
off of--
our ships are 
made of driftwood &
egg cartons--
the salt water wind 
kicked 
king-sized Reese-cup wrappers 
&
Lays chip bags
into the air-- they 
float
like jelly fish--
undulating between
the wheels
of travelers
who are also on a
route of
constant 
circumnavigation--
on the smug brick face of
the high school
my father 
& i played
wall ball-- our
bikes
entangled beneath
a chestnut tree--
pounding pounding 
on the stone--
pounding on the back
step of heaven
to ask god to
keep us company in
our town 
as wide as 
the world--
when you're
eleven & your
bike is unbound by
gravity 
& sometimes
accidentally takes
flight--
i found myself
riding
the arched shoulders
of the great wall of china--
pedaling beneath the
Eiffel tower--
biking on the 
surface of the ocean 
& never sinking--
oh god i bike on 
water--
the creek by my
house is filled with
holy water--
i go 
alone sometimes-- 
tennis ball 
in my fist
& it gets colder
& it gets november &
the world uses a 
brown belt
to hold up it's  
dress pants-- 
i stand & with mismatched
gloves
i hurl the tennis balls--
neon planets
at the brick--
crack-smack-thump 
at the front door
of heaven 
to throw until 
the sunset blushes
at my persistence--
god is a quiet god
who takes the bounce
out of tennis balls &
flattens tires--
when i was eleven the
world was only as high
as the hill on
Deisher Lane--
shifting into a high gear
to climb--
i gained speed 
on trexler ave--
felt the bike leave
the ground--
engine smacking--
it was god to
lifted me &
laid my blue
bike down on
the porch
when i
got home

dandelion hair

i'm here to tell 
you all of my
dandelion wishes 
& that way i won't
have to ever know
if they'll come true or
not-- 
a secret is the kind of 
thing that bites
a hole in your pocket--
it rests the size
of a dime 
or jupiter--
a gas planet full of 
red eyes & storms--
does it count if
your brother helps
you blow off
all the seeds?
& where do they
go to hide themselves
where their wish-bodies
can take root
& grow more wishes
for more little 
boys with 
knee-hole jeans
there will be more--
there will always be
more heads to
wish on--
hold me by the neck--
the way you would a 
de-thorned rose--
blew my hair
off into
the back yard 
i'll grow--i'll grow
i'll grow wishes 
the size of evergreen trees
& laugh golden & everyone
will have believed that
i was a flower 
or a great planet
yanking moons
from the cosmos
& keeping them in my
pocket-- heavy as 
a handful of dimes
when i was little i
used to wish on the 
dandelions that
god would 
show himself to me--
i told him that he could
be anything--
a morning dove-- 
a fast gust of
wind--
in church i would look
at the oil wick flicker
of the candles 
& i would ask him
to blow them 
out-- blow out the fires 
for me
to blow the storms
off the forehead of jupiter
& god laughed the lawn 
full of dandelions
so that i could 
keep wishing--
god sat under the street
lamp outside on
the curb &
he  spoke a language 
spun only by august nights--
he spoke into my window
& left the glass
foggy--
i drew a heart
in the mist--
oh & then when i was
older-- when i was 
older enough 
to love you
i blew the faces off
dandelions 
to ask if we could
hold onto
each other's hair 
& even as  
i asked i saw you
turning-- 
cheeks flushing white--
we will all inevitably 
turn back into wishes--
grow wild &
fearless & yellow
in our parents backyards 
the wind comes &
the wind comes off
jupiter--
a jingling handful of
moons in its pocket
she is so full of
secrets that
we'll all lose our hair--
wish hard on 
every strand --
sit down with me--
lay under the warmth
of the street lamps--
i want to tell you 
all my dandelion
wishes--
you don't have to tell
me yours 
but if you did 
i would listen
& keep them from 
blowing away
in the wind 
shape in my pocket
your strands 
of yellow hair
& the solar system 

Where do deleted pictures go?

i select
a handful of pictures 
of me & you--

you don't love
me anymore but
you did 
in this picture--
i kiss your cheek--
the world is 
made of pixels
i turn-- i turn
i turn to kiss your
cheek-- we are made
of lights

i needed more
space on my phone
so i let us go--
& now i can't remember
what necklace i was
wearing or if
your hair was wet 
from a shower
did it smell like
lavender or
rosehips?

i follow them
(the pictures
i deleted)
i trace their 
foot steps up 
the beach in Wildwoof
it's October &
the mist off the ocean
is cool 
the sunset is full of
leaves 

i dip my feet in
the water where
the foot prints
end
i ask some
bird watchers 
if they've seen
a handful of
pictures that i deleted
off my iphone 
& they seem puzzled
as if they've 
never tracked 
a photograph 
before

i keep walking
i go under the surf--
breath salt water
& check the bellies
of the horseshoe crabs--
their ancient bodies--
their blue blood
they haven't seen
my pictures

i go to the stream--
over turn stones-- 
speak to crayfish
(who all find humans
to be quite irrational
to be hunting so desperately
for an image of themself)
Narcissus narcissus 
they whisper

i tell the crayfish
it's more than that
it's a memory--

it's a memory 

i forget how
it felt to be
so full of light
bulbs-- so full
of birthday cake
icing

how did you get
me to eat a whole
slice of the
cheesecake moon?
fresh black berries in
our hair

oh i loved you

sitting on the 
back step 
night falls 
like an armful of
books on my desk

i double check behind
library cards--
between flyleaf pages--
all the places i would hide 

i look up briefly
& there is 
a new moon

i stand up to
ask God if he keeps
them &
i'm surprised when
he drops down
a rope ladder 
for me to climb up

up there every cloud
is buzzing with
my old pictures--
gummy worm smiles
ice cream
sundaes 
blurry 
foot ball game lights
my head rested 
on your chest
a bright caterpillar
with a map of
the stars written
on his back

the angels sort--
carry box after box--
pouring them to 
make up the clouds

he (in his sweater
& corduroy pants)
points to a box sitting
alone

the picture of us
is on top

i'm not wearing a 
necklace

your hair smells like
lavender

cat's cradle 

you loved me last
night how i wanted 
how i always wanted--
you cupped me in your
hands like a firefly
or a toad--
soft skin & faint
street lamp
gentle & irrevocable--
no part of me could ever have
escaped you--
& you told me that 
the telephone wires
were the biggest lie--
that they were god
playing cat's cradle
with the cords-- threading
his fingers in & out--
look it's the Eiffel tower--
the witches broom
oh the cat's cradle
the cat's cradle 
you slept with me in
& we pulled out the telephone
wires to listen to
everyone's phone calls--
oh no-- not like
the NSA-- we listened
like god listens
to the thighs 
of the crickets 
when night falls
on all of earth at once--
when he slips the sun
into his back pocket
like a round golden watch
& he listens to everything--
he hums along
to our ticking--
the clock hands
in our throats
& no
we're not gods 
but we have the telephone
wires to listen to
& we have our bodies
hanging above it all--
your skin on
mine is electric--
reach over will you
& rinse off the
moon in the sink?
let's pretend it's new years
& bang pots & pans
in the driveway--
wake up the neighbors 
& tell them we decided that
it's a new year--
it's a new year
you will love me how
i wanted to be loved--
hands cupped
around 
firefly body
flickering 
like the faint
street lights
tangled
in his
cat's 
cradle

finger paint love me 

there would 
never be
enough photographs 
of us so
i took to finger painting--
set easels
around my bed room--
i made us oranges 
& yellows--
ketchup reds &
deep spear mint
evergreens--
we grew the kind of
green you pull
from the throat
of the ocean--
the kind that kisses
aquamarine
i painted our
lips with my thumbs--
used my knees to
draw cheek bones--
my toes traced your
jawline 
these bodies are 
tools
of color--
dipped my shoulders 
sky blue to
roll over the clouds--
lay here in bed with
me-- 
let's paint each
other into sunsets--
bruised sunsets 
maroon scabbing
dusk--
i fell in a calliope
of fingers--
made the sign of
the cross
on your forehead 
in cobalt blue--
wipe off your sins
on the back of your hand--
finger paint me
how you want--
how do you want 
to remember the curves
of my body?
fill me
full of yellow--
smear me brown
& black-- 
leave enough white
on the canvas
space to sleep in--
when the sun
trickles in the window to
pour over 
bodies we
can crawl into 
the dark quiet of
a camera--
the cove
where color & light
are stolen to
make memories
on the other side
of the lens 
it's quiet-- 
moss
& must 
kiss my neck
in this deliberate
dark-- 
rub my lips off on
your tongue--
kiss me deep
enough to fill
your body with
mine--
paint yourself
with the the colors
no one has known
the ones deep down
in me bone's corridors 
i want your to finger
paint love me
there's no light
here--
there's only 
our bodies
& god

What's wrong with your voice?

i took scissors to
radio tongues--
opened my mouth wide
enough to swallow the 
record player--
the disk 
skip skip skips
in my throat
i open-- i unhindge
my jaw wide enough
to let out
the calls of 
hundreds of birds--
there's the whistle
of the black-capped
chickadee--
the trill of the pine
warbler--
the wail of 
the common loon--
an uncontrollable
laughter falls 
out on the carpet
in a burst of black
speckled feathers
i'm homesick for a voice
alone in my room
i sing the one song i 
know in italian
i remember my voice
teacher telling me
to throw the high notes
out the top of my head
through the ceiling--
they always got
tangled-- beak & claw
thrashing-- smack against
the ceiling fan--
i sing italian words--
i sing them wrong--
they get knotted 
on the ladder rungs of
my throat--
Spesso vibra per suo gioco
Spesso vibra per suo gioco
i don't translate--
i make up a meaning for
the song--
i say this
song is about a dead lover 
& my voice teacher
says
that not every song
is about dying 
but i think it is--
especially if it's in
italian--
i practice over
& over sitting here--
throwing my voice
at the ceiling
until there's none of
it left
i open my mouth 
& speak static &
gravel
i cut out newspaper
headlines--
swallow them
i'm making a paper machete
voice 
i've been your
ventriloquist-- i've
song soprano & 
followed along
in a hymnal-- i 
sing
ave ave ave 
maria--
maria give me
the call of a magpie
if i can't sing
away my tongue--
i'll take the scissors
to it--
snip out my teeth--
my tongue piece by piece--
plant them in the back yard
& wait with my mouth closed
& filling with feathers--
red blood feathers--
i'm waiting for my
teeth 
to grow trees & in
the trees i'll spend my
day catching birds &
asking them to chirp
to warble to sing
to thrash-- spit 
their words
into the back of 
my mouth
what's wrong with my voice?
it's in assembly--
piece by piece 
i'm building
radio tongue--
bird call
i break through
the ceiling

our daughters 
were hurricanes

cut your sneakers down
from the telephone wires
run down 
the center of
noble street with me--

balance on 
the double yellow lines--

if we run fast enough
we can lose these
bodies-- 

if i didn't have
this body i would
have the sky 
& the melting polar
ice caps--

let's run
up there & down there
tell them
to stop this none sense--

tell them that there's
nothing to cry over 
that there's never been
anything to 
cry over-- 

we'll put
a blue ice packs
on their foreheads &
say 
you're burning up
you're burning up

with a fever of 99.7
i stayed home from
elementary school &
my father dropped
goldfish crackers 
into chicken noodle
soup
taught me how to 
swim--

taught me how to
let myself melt--

he told me the polar bears
are melting & breaking 
off into the sea--

& all the while 
the news reports warned
that
our daughters were
becoming hurricanes--

they were tying
their sneakers
together & tossing them
over the telephone
wires on 
noble street--

they were outrunning
their bodies & 
dispersing into
the grass as morning
dew-- 

oh i've always 
wanted to trade
my skin to become
a morning fog

headlights
shout through me

i wrote a letter
to the ice caps
& told them to swallow
their tears
like i learned 
to swallow my own--

paper cup by paper cup

their bodies gained force 
up east coast--

swirled & knotted
into themselves--

she screamed with a force
of 80 mph 
& trees un-clenched 
their fists from
the soil & the sand 

oh our daughter maria
what had we done to
you to 
turn you into a cyclone--

was your mother 
so jealous 
that she let herself melt
into the sea?

when i'm done running 
there will be no such
thing as snow
& the earth will
be made of water 
& we will all be able 
to float 

i was the daughter
that plucked the eye
of the storm out
of her grandmother's
jewelry box--

a glittery brooch
pinned to my chest

by the time i
hit land i was a hurricane--

i pulled my sneakers 
down from 
the telephone line

& ran

anthony

i think i'm still
in love with a boy
named anthony who
sat next to me 
in the second grade--
we both agreed 
that allosaurus is
much better than T-Rex
even though everyone thinks
T-Rex is cooler--

we compared book-sale 
catalogs & we'd both circled
Jurassic Attack!
the cover with a velociraptor 
leaping out of the page--

we agreed that we
would be friends

he told me he was moving
to minnesota
 
& i asked how far a drive
that was & he said only a few
states away & i said
i would visit him--

i imagined states were
as far apart as towns or
even as close as sidewalk squares
i built him a farm house with
wooden floors
he left the porch light
on for me & we caught lighting bugs

he lived right 
over the railroad
tracks in fleetwood because
i didn't remember what was over
there-- 
i assumed
it could be minnesota 

i said i would
have my dad drive me
because he doesn't mind
road trips &
maybe we could read 
Jurasic Attack!
together

i asked if anthony had
a play station &
he said he was getting
one someday so i said
i'd bring over dad's dinosaur 
video game--
the game with the purple-haired
girl all dressed in leather--
i told him that i liked
it for the dinosaurs--
not for the girl even
though you had to play
as her--

he made me pinky swear
i would visit--

he told me that it
made him feel better
to know he'd still
have a friend--

that night when i went
home
to our row house 
on main street
i walked outside with my dad

i asked 
him to turn off the street
lamps so that 
the moths would quit
burning themselves 

he said he'd try
& we walked 
up & down 
the sidewalk
taking out each light bulb--

i told him that
i wanted to visit my friend
in minnesota &

he just held our blue plastic
sand bucket
full of light bulbs--

they clattered together--

i asked where the moths would
escape to 
without all the street lamps

& my dad said they'd probably
end up high as the moon--
knocking it from
the top shelf--

he said minnesota was
also on the top shelf--

& i told him we should
knock it down--
break it into a thousand pieces
like our blue & yellow
cereal bowls
on the kitchen floor

& all the moths 
smacked on the moon
-- got lost
lost in the stars &
didn't come down
until the spring

we floated
the light bulbs 
in the creek & 
they lit up-- little lanterns 
bobbing slowly
away-- 

i asked if light bulbs  
could ever be stars
& my dad said maybe but 
only if we could
pick up the pieces of
minnesota on the kitchen
floor--

i said that maybe
the light bulbs would
make it there--
to my friend & he would
know i hadn't forgotten

dear anthony do
you still like allosaurus?
it's okay if you don't

& it's okay if 
you never got a play station--

dear anthony 
did you get my light bulbs?
were they still bright
in minnesota? 

minnesota
right over the railroad
tracks in your great big farm
house with wooden floors 
& a porch covered
in lightning bugs--

if you read this 
take minnesota off your
top shelf
& mail it to me

for want of a wolf 

for want of a wolf
she wore a red thong
& shaved her legs
in the creek--
nicked her heel
& blood trickled
up stream with
maroon & 
burnt orange leaves

grandmother's house
was a highway--
a back seat--
a crystal jar of 
strawberry hard candies--
grandmother's house was
a wooden pew &
a stained glass window
& a mug full of hot milk
for want of a wolf
she stuck her hand
out the car wind to
catch racing air

her mother told
(her like all mothers
tell their red children)
to never hitchhike--
to stay in the backseat 
& never wear thongs
because they make
you a slut 

for want of a wolf 
she opened the back door 
roll out onto 
hot asphalt highway--
stuck out her thumb

for want of a wolf
she wore a red thong 

& the maple trees were so
embarrassed that they 
got naked for her--
spilled their leaves--
wrote love poems on
each one before they
fell-- wrote sonnets
about her razor burn legs

wrote elegies
wrote prayers

for want of a wolf
she hitchhiked to 
grandmother's house--

her grandmother's
house 
past 7/11
past Limerick Diner
& past tall blinking
radio towers sending
distress signals 
to God-- God who
fills his ears 
with clouds

for want of a wolf
she ate cake from
her basket-- drank
the wine & bled purple
closed her eyes 
& day dreamed about
what fangs would
feel like against her
pink skin

& her grandmother
was very very strange
like all grandmothers 

oh what big 
eyes, 
ears,
mouth you have

oh what big
erotic teeth--

all the better
to eat me with--

the inside of a wolf
is warm-- 
is quiet 
& throbbing & full of
so much blood 

for want of darkness
for want of heartbeat
for want of a lonely body
she rested

she thought of radio
towers & how she
had never been good 
at praying 
she thought for
the first time of her
father & wondered
if he had ever
been a wolf or a highway
or a basket full of 
wine & cake

the hunter's axe
is always the first
one responsible for blood

for want of a wolf 
he cut open her grandmother
but he saw she was wearing
a thong
so he filled them
both with stones--
the girl & the wolf

river stones--
smooth & heavy 

each one down their
throats like lead
tongue kisses

he weighed them down
so they could never move

from grandmother's house
her house
past 7/11 & red light
radio towers

& God pretended not
to listen

they lay 

statues 
with

erotic teeth 
&
her red 
red 
thong 






 

when heaven was 
the other side of a cloud

it was one of those
nights where i was
the only person left
on earth &
headlights 
drove themselves--
blared in the driveway--
it was one of those
nights where i had to 
coax my body to stay &
not wander off
to a cloud--
it was one of 
those nights 
i spent trying 
not to think
so much about dying 
& thinking 
how everything
would be better
if the rapture would
have happened--
we all could have gone 
up together--
i want to go back to
a time when heaven
was as close as the other
side of 
a cloud-- i don't 
want to die
but when i look
at the confused september
street all i can think
about is how the 
sidewalk will look
covered in snow--
how it's inevitable 
that it will be again
covered in snow 
i like to look at snow
but i don't like
the way it tucks 
us all in--
tells us to whisper--
snow says
speak in hushed voices
get out of bed late
& turn your body 
into an angel--
flap your wings--
backwards fly into
a headlight--
i believe in coming back
to summer-- not because
it's better than snow
but because it's
most lonely of all
the seasons--
summer cuts her hair
& no one notices--
summer shaves the 
front lawns of her knees--
she asks me 
to hold her hand
& walk up our
street again--
she says she feels
like she doesn't have a right
to be so bold in september--
i kiss her under a street lamp
like how you're supposed to--
i'm watching her
decrescendo-- her
arms will start 
at night-- cold-- 
she will grow frost
under her fingernails
she'll shake her bones loose
in maple trees--
paint maroon &
mandarin leaves on sidewalk 
& autumn will never
love her like i did--
since if was seven
i've been fascinated
by frozen 
lakes-- 
i stood
on the edge of the pond
in fleetwood park
while my father
explained that the
ice wasn't thick enough 
to stand on--
i wanted to walk on it
anyway--
like a sidewalk--
like a sidewalk to 
fall into--
i watched TV shows about
little kids
who slipped through 
the ice & were rescued
only i didn't
want to be rescued--
i wanted from the bottom
of my bones
to feel cold-- to feel
the stillness 
of the bottom of
the pond-- a ceiling
of ice &
heaven sitting
above with
her headlights