maybe you can trade the vase
toss it back to you and again to her
softly slapping palms and cupping the glass
every month or so
pluck some soggy-ended blossoms
dirt still hanging off the edge in clumps
pouring itself back in the crevices of the earth
when you clasp the stem too hard
Read A Pre-Splintered Suggestion >
chills your skin
gray clouds billow, stark
against deep green grass
thick, dark, rich
ozone and petrichor and ice
the scents circle,
wind whips your face
Read A Windy Day on a Grassy Hill in the English Countryside >
It’s not that I don’t want to lie down,
become that kind of treasure chest in an aquarium
that will blubber bubbles and spread seaweed on the glass.
The kind that won’t rub off no matter how hard you try cleaning and
you’ll end up with
scratches on these mirrored walls anyway.
It’s not that I don’t want to fight.
but really, I am trying to learn that it’s okay to be okay.
Read Lie Down Your Head >