Clay
Her paw print, laid in clay.
A concave piercing, always asking...
Never answering.
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Float.
Why am I in this room now? When did I arrive? My hands are shaking too loudly to know. Oh yea…my hair bands. I try twenty times, and I’m running out of time. My bun is now a startled peacock. She likes peacocks though. I hope she likes
Eucalyptus
I park at the curb near her driveway. A brown anole boasting, getting its reps in on a white bucket. She's kneeling down, wood not yet placed across the frames. A canvas covered with spray paint. She offers a chair first, and does the same. The wood holding
Untitled.
Crushed under the weight of empty boxes. Tears. Borrowed from the ocean. Birthed by the moon. A sign hangs over the presents. Happy in orange, birthday in blue, Drew in green. 　　　　[I see nothing happy.] 　　　　[Can I bring myself to open them?] "Maybe after dinner." 　　　　[Will I even
Land Well for the Boat
I will climb to higher ground, so we all will land sound. Them first, then me. Months of duty, I obliged. I will grip the palm until all of us reach the higher ground. Not one of them flails against the screaming waves; shelter we'll provide. I find