laser-tag dusk soldiers let's ultra violet-- neon paint our prophecies on the sides of the cliffs-- tuck the sun into the caves & seal the tomb-- she will comb all the knots from her white-gold hair-- dripping with wedding rings-- bells on the rocks-- have you climbed the church towers lately? have you figured out who tells the time when to move forward? this is laser-tag warfare-- this is red forever & we were twelve & melting-- sweat sticking my blue t-shirt to my skin-- crouch with me in flowerpots-- buy yourself to the knees there is nothing to be understood about this poem other that the war was already coming before the first stanza-- they had already purchased the plastic tanks my brother was already a solider metal helmet catching bombs-- we wore our snow boots in the winter & trekked out to the space behind the garage where no one from the house could see us-- we got on our knees-- we made camp-- we set glow-stick fires-- we made blood promises with our pocket knife thumbs-- veins glowing in the violet light of the new moon-- our hair stood up on the back of our necks-- we grew wild & unbelieving in mortality tested the limits of our skin-- was it me or you who broke the wooden step on the way up to the deck? the roof caved in & by the roof i mean the sky itself-- so heavy with our imagined bullets oh, brother, is this a love poem? how old are we even & how many years have we been backyard-walking-- have we been telling each other nightlight stories to fall asleep? you are too old & i am only twelve & four months old & you got to be eighteen-- take your gun in both hands when you leave the house in the morning-- there are icicle teeth biting down hard-- there are mountains where we once laid hand prints-- when we finally find out who has been orchestrating time all along we will tell them to take the weekend off-- take turns aiming at tombstones-- ricochet off mausoleum-- lay down in the unfilled graves & laugh-- arms across our chests like mummies-- oh look at us indigo & twilight do you have your laser gun with you? we'll need it when we decide to walk back up noble street a dog barks at a wind chime spirit-- you point your gun like a flashlight
01/27
artificial recently i've had a hard time feeling real i find my hands becoming sunsets at their own will-- voice acrylic-- oil paint lips smearing all over my own wrists was it you who made me this way? turned me all cherry cough drop & pine tree air freshener-- cellophane wrapped my body-- plastic pierce me o microwave goddess whose prayer is hum-- you count the freckles on my face like head-up pennies for luck-- do i taste like spearmint? like a stick of wriggly's gum? what do you do to make yourself feel real? for me it's the water-- i take a shower & assume that if i don't dissolve that i am likely a real there is of course the possiblity that the shower isn't real either-- or i slipped down a drain years ago & this is just a memory you had of me-- i used to keep tally marks day by day by day to measure the passage of time-- to ensure the moon did it's duty & measured herself into nothing-- i think i think about the moon so much because i sympathize-- i feel my body swelling-- taking up the entire sky-- fingers pointing down my throat-- it was you who swallowed the stars & was bold enough to smile-- until i was a fourteen year old girl fading-- night furnace grinning me into a sliver & a smirk-- how often do you get on your knees anymore? do you ever draw blood to see if there's still rivers in you? convinced it will come out blue & syrup-- snowcone kiss me until i am sticky sleep-- i have come to the conclusion that i am likely a hologram-- or a series of tarot cards laying face up on a wooden table or a glint of light winking off your rear-view mirror as you adjust it on the highway home i am not driving home-- my body was back there laying next to you you make me feel less artificial-- like bare feet like ice cubes like a handful of bird throats i want to walk in your voice & stay there-- leave my shoes by the door when you kiss me do i taste like spearmint? when you touch me i believe in the quiets of my own blood-- i turn off the lights-- straddle dark-- moon fade again beside you
01/26
hawk there's a hawk's nest in the attic & our pupils dilated into planets in the stare of each other's flashlights-- where did the winter carry your bridges? the melted snow creeks are full of unborn frogs waiting for spring to warm them-- there we are-- in clusters of eggs-- our tiny embryo bodies making orbits inside our shells-- what kind of moons did i walk on before i was born? was it a sort of honeymoon for myself-- did we dip our feet in Mediterranean ocean? naked & sun-burned-- a red cinnamon candy dissolving in the inevitability of coming alive-- i imagine i was disappointed when i learned it was my time to stop exploring-- river ripetide pulling me from a ghost tree-- i ached with wanting for myself: nomadic & unborn-- the currents were too fast & there i was-- there i was stinging in window light-- sometimes my feet remember that wandering-- i felt it in the woods by the creek-- the one with the limestone kilns we used as temples & the abandoned house where hawks roosted-- shrieking at our pink skin as we put out the fires of our shoe laces-- sharpie-marker tattooed the hips of the trees to mark our trails-- learned the language of dusk & all of it's ambling color-- who could know where purple is going if left unchecked? i think back then i was maybe a light shade of maroon-- back when i had no body to worry about breaking when i climbed grandfather tree limbs & eat handfuls of wild berries or maybe they were planets-- planets taste sweet-- not like gumballs but like pop rocks-- like myself, i don't know where this poem is going-- it stepped off the gravel trail & found itself in the girl memories of autumn & broken twigs-- in the deep girl ankles scratched by briers-- let's give the hawk a name so that her babies will laugh when they learn there is something she goes by other than just "mother"-- i don't know if there are hawks in the creek but there is one in my hawk & she is pacing-- flashlight in her mouth-- scratching at the walls of my skulls-- each talon etching echo-- i tell her she can stay when i really mean that it's time for her to find a new body to build a nest in-- i walk out in the wilting snow & open my mouth but she doesn't leave.
refresh
i've spent way too much time in the last few weeks refreshing application pages to MFA programs as if at 9:52pm on a Sunday night the selection committee will be making their final decisions clicking the send button to welcome me into some kind of answer-- i started doing it to my email inbox too-- it's like when i was little & first discovered the phenomenon of the mail-- how like magic the green box at the end of the driveway summoned toy catelogs around christmas & white envelope bills for mom to stack on the kitchen table with orphaned mittens & other odds & ends-- the miracle of a postage stamp & it's small promises to carry words-- the end of my driveway is now a computer screen-- maybe if i refresh this page again there will be some email from god sitting there-- an attachment image of my life all mapped out in .jpgs-- the driveway dissolves into a keyboard into a postage stamp stuck to the back of my neck-- where are you sending me? is god still up at his desk?-- hunched over a MacBook-- two finger strolling down a list of people like me who write him letters only to save them as drafts-- if i refresh one more time will the asphlat come back? who is coming with me? the little red flag-- hand raised-- what's funny is i don't even know if i want to go to graduate school or change cities or have my name on a dust cover perching on the shelf of some independent book store on a quirky main street-- stop lights key-chain swaying in a gust of January wind-- i don't know if i love you-- but i'm scared i'll punch in the URL one more time & i'll see myself on the screen at the end of my parent's driveway-- messy pig tails & ripped-knee jeans or 30 years old on the steps of some apartment building in a city i haven't been yet-- at first i won't recognize him until i notice his black converse & the nervous way he pushes his sweater sleeves up to the elbows-- i know that tomorrow isn't coming in the mail & that waiting is a form of elegy but i wish you were here with me now tonight at my computer-- kiss me like a postage stamp on my right shoulder-- this is a letter for you--
01/25
body weeds when you find your body full of weeds resist the urge to drink your father's poison from the shed-- stretch your arms high-- graze the low hanging branches of the evergreen trees-- feel your spine fire-cracker on the side walk-- they keep lighters in the top drawer next to the kebabs & the birthday candles-- crouch in the driveway with your flick flint & fire-- little girl you have needles & spines-- you have roots as deep as your own bones-- there is not process of removal that will leave you unscathed-- do not blame yourself-- (as always) blame gravity or the spore-breathed wind who kissed you with so many visitors-- kneel in the water when your skin needs to drink-- feel the river snakes wriggle by you on their bellies-- they won't bite if you learn how to stay still & mean it-- do not be afraid of the roots-- i know you feel them-- i know they knit like your mother-- thick wool around arteries-- marionette your wrists-- trust me-- the brush killer won't save you-- nor will devouring gravity once & for all-- we need your body held to soil-- we need the lush lawn who waits beneath the first snow-- we need the patience of your freckles & the tenderness of the dandelions-- if you are to survive you have to trust them when they tell you that they are flowers-- protruding between ribs-- cracking the asphalt of your neck-- you are going to want to tear yourself apart-- uproot & bleed gravel-- you are going to want to sleep on the floor by your parents bed like you did when you were young & wrapped in fever-- this is you-- this is where your body has grown-- when you find yourself stranded in the labyrinth your backyards & garage doors do not cry yet-- first locate your voice in the throats of the morning doves-- in the start of the blue station wagon in the drive way know that you are not home & that the weeds only want to make you more course & earthy-- less prone to the full threat of gravity-- hold still-- count backwards from one hundred-- drink water until your blood trickles clear water-- you are such a bold sound of concrete such a valorous attempt at sturdy-body-- let the weeds break you-- each fissure bringing chasms-- yielding breach-- so many entrance ways-- you amphitheater-- you stadium-- you bones
01/24
Hungary you tell me that sometimes you google the immigration process to countries whose languages you know you'll never be able to learn-- you tell me Hungarian isn't a romance language or germanic-- that it's Uralic & neither of us know what that means but we know we could at least get lost in it-- i trust you because sometimes i want to wipe my body clean of all traces of myself-- it's not that i don't like my life-- it's that i'm curious-- i'm curious of millions of iterations of my tongue? what poetry would i write if i had spoken hungarian instead of english? would i have written more about meadows & flowers? would i be less infectiously nostalgic about your barefoot backyard worlds? i'm getting us two plane tickets with the last money in my bank account-- become untied with me-- let's make new names-- are there churches you want to visit in Budapest? let's lock arms so we don't get lost from each other-- i'm okay with being no one if you will walk with me-- exchange vows of silence-- i can feel the lights from the széchenyi chain bridge dripping into the danube river-- we fall in too & cut out our tongues to let them swim as fish-- we get more & more distant from our old lives-- from the green mailbox on noble street-- from the broken blue & yellow glasses on the red speckled kitchen floor-- the sound of thrashing corn melts into water churning around us & when our tongues swim back they speak perfect hungarian-- soaked we emerge-- night is genuflecting-- it's saturday & tomorrow we will have to find a church for you-- we stop a young couple to ask for directions to a hotel to spend the night & they think we belong here with our english fed to the water-- with the river slicing our bodies in half-- what rivers have divide you? where do you go to wash off the sun? the couple gives instructions-- walk up two blocks & on the left there is a a step-ladder you can take all the way to the front lawn of the moon-- they paused to add oh & welcome home welcome home & as we walk away i put my arm around you & say welcome home welcome home in a language neither of us will ever know
i love Valentines Day
i have been spending a lot of time in the "seasonal" section of Giant-- drenched in red & pink heart shaped boxes of chocolate-- stuffed animal hearts hearts warm blood pulse their stitched 'i love you's i know i'll say something snarky about Sweaheart candies & the romance capitalism complex but the truth is i adore Valentines day-- i watch the other people in the aisle & try to imagine who they're thinking about while lingering there at 6pm on a Thursday night in January-- whose kiss are they living in? whose love are they fumbling for? in the form of heart shapes that don't even emulate our own muscle thrusting blood down the rivers of our veins-- dripping onto the linoleum floor-- it's a kind of bleeding isn't it? chocolate melting in my hands as i peruse all the boxes i could give someone-- yes i'm here thinking about you-- about how clumsy it is to have feelings about how i pressed roses in my father's atlases & how in 2nd grade we had to give everyone in our class Valentines but that i held onto the ones for my crushes a little bit longer-- taping the best candies to their cut-out purple hearts-- the girl next to me in the aisle for valentines-believers is inspecting a chocolate rose-- to leave on the kitchen table for her girlfriend to find when she gets home-- a little further a man in a red flannel is holding a plush rabbit & cat trying to remember which animal his wife likes more-- i love valentines day because it's so so frantic-- to imperfect & terrifying-- make material your feelings for someone else-- we know we're graceles in this aisle together-- as graceless as we are the first time we discover our blood moving too quickly for us to catch-- these are the currents you pull in me-- the red & pink hearts-- i don't like to buy anything for valentines day but i wanted you to know how every time i go to the super market i push my cart down this aisle & meander in thoughts of you-- i throb-- uncoordinated & cumbersome-- i'm an inelegant mess-- wrap me in cellophane-- you make me red & heart-shaped
01/23
cloud fall & the clouds came down as the animals we saw in them-- hoof & claw-- steam & stampede-- clamor of glasses in the cupboard-- i peeled open my blinds to see them all-- grey to white their bodies left up to interpretation-- you saw a dragon & i saw the scowling face of a teacher i had in elementary school-- the one who made me sit on the brick wall during recess-- i took inventory of the clouds-- read their body prophecies-- the rain is of course coming-- balanced on the heads of the elephants-- ripped from the ocean in the teeth of the mermaids-- sharp pairing knives-- slice your strawberries in half to make hearts-- i beat blood into my pale palms as a promise to always read the clouds-- listen to their commotion as they ascend-- make stair cases of the shingles-- slide down lamp posts on main street-- touch down to earth-- a thick fog of tails & tomorrow-- tomorrow will i get to be a cloud-- i want hollow bones & a larger wing span-- i want to be mistaken for a magpie & a snowy owl-- feathers of oak leaf & snowfall-- everything is melting isn't it? me & you & the animals born each morning from an unsuspecting cloud-- are we then the parents? the guardians of so many sets of eyes & hind legs setting forth to peruse the dirt-- kiss mud into water-- slip into puddles as deep as rivers-- today the clouds are rapid-- chasing each other home-- i follow them in my car until they hide beneath the hem of the horizon as the sun becomes an oreo cookie dunked in a clear glass of milk-- sweet cream & crumbling-- i can taste chocolate when we kiss-- when you run a hand through my hair & realize how volatile this body is-- an assembly of vapors-- yes i traded my flesh for the same body as the cloud animals-- i wanted to run at the command of the wind-- i wanted you to look at me & tell me what i should be-- a giraffe-- a blue whale-- a hand clutching a silver dollar-- a plump crooked nose-- come stand outside in the fog & the mist & wait for me to come down the staircase-- hair still damp from a midnight shower-- my checkerboard boxers all green & white & blue-- i'll stand there & wait for you to make a cloud of me all the while the storm gathers enough hooves pour-- kiss me when i'm grey & illegible-- careful of what you see in me-- i might be a snake or a fern tree or simply a boy who dissapears on occasion into cloud
01/22
assemble us here, will you take the instructions? unfold-- let's read each other like maps-- like desk drawers & lamp lights-- i click on with the push of a button just like a good star-- drill gun in hand-- these bodies are in assembly-- knees & wood floor-- i want to put myself together beside you-- keep me company-- this is a process & i'm still learning what pieces are missing-- what screws dropped from my elbows while i was too busy being a sofa for bodies to press into-- come home to me in the ikea show room-- the faucets don't work but that's what we have rain for-- that's why we cut windows with scissors-- break open the card board ceiling-- i'll plant you a tree on the roof top-- one that grows taller than the sky scrapers-- one that challenges the glossy silver eyes of the building in center city-- take you shoes off in me-- stay while-- a body is a kind of gathering-- a congregation of wood & pressure-- i've never been one to read instructions-- i've been winging it thus far so that's probably why i have so many handfuls of screws-- they're probably very important-- i keep them in my pockets in case i start to come apart-- i want to come apart with you & back together & re-assembled into new shapes-- watch me be water-- an end table-- a windowsill-- open me to let in a breeze loud enough to knock your mail off the kitchen table-- i've never been broken-- just in assembly-- in the process of finding enough parts to be a place i can lay myself down again-- oh are you a ceiling or are you a book shelf? both are great places to sleep when a bed is to vast for tonight's dream-- when you walk me out to my car i want to pull you into the back seat-- kick off the car roof & look up towards the night sky-- shy in the wake of the city lights-- we'd coax them out with open palms & iPhone flashlights-- come home to me-- come home to me-- you make my handfuls of screws melt like the snow-- fold the instructions into a paper airplane-- come visit on that gust still breathing in your open window--
01/21
on emptying the ocean i thought i could see the ocean falling off the side of earth-- waterfall into space-- faucet pouring from the forehead of the sun-- these are bullet holes-- these are salt-water wounds-- these are the stories we will tell the soil when the drought is here & we are all dry earth-- we'll start with sand box shovels & blue pales-- brother, oh brother come down with me where the shore is the crooked smirk of god-- laughing at the absurdity of two young boys who want to empty the ocean-- boulders for teeth-- trust only the tide pools-- the star fish pushing debris through their lips-- crack conch shells-- use sand dollars as prayer beads-- one handful at a time-- that's how you dismantle an ocean-- how you become something vast-- like most humans i think about the ocean & the stars too much-- it's a vague attempt at augmentation-- diffusing into space-- let me be plankton or pollen-- you have to commit to the whole thing-- starting here at the atlantic & moving on to the mediterranean-- the pacific-- all oceans are the ocean are the rivers & have been snow-- yes yes there's blood that has been snow but if we pour out the oceans the boats will have to learn how to fly & maybe just maybe the moon will find something more productive to do then tousling the waves every single day-- maybe she'll take up quilting or piano-- playing the knuckles of buildings-- minor key mother-- this will of course take awhile & i don't expect you to stay with me-- cup your hands & take yourself apart in puddles of water-- let's make marshes-- splash in the blue rivers of our own blood-- is that the tigris & the euphrates painting our arms in reeds & papyrus? is this were we first met water & where we decided to take it apart? bring your gallon jugs & your blue recycling barrels i want to make raw the ocean floor-- parched ship wrecks & tired giant squids strewn out like party streamers-- schools of tuna attempting to inhale air-- this is for their own good-- for the water to sink back into the dirt-- back into our skin-- let us be oceans without them-- without the moon tugging at us with her needle & thread-- let us bring our penance to the tide pools where our seven-year-old bodies will finally go to sleep & be mischievous-- bring driftwood & sunday morning church bells-- cracked as they speak-- we will stand at the edge & say we have done it-- we have done it-- we have spilled the whole ocean with our hands--
