Now that the Israeli has left, it falls
on me to make the salad.

I count my homes—
those of my scattered youth
the sanctuary of our young family
the intermittent rest stops
of apartments and vacations.

I have an axe
with hearts gashed

Ma wrings
a wet world
of colors

It is the 70s. 1970s? 2570s? Who knows?
Audre and I have a penthouse in New York.

You’ve spent a lifetime training
for this.

He has stories that I am not in
anymore. It’s healed this way.

love is a soggy tea stain on a grocery receipt

Do not say anything anybody else has said ever. Things are not “bleached by sun.”

The storm passes without snow.
The car waits loyally in the back lot.

Okay, picture this: We’re in an elevator. The elevator shuts down. It doesn’t matter where we’re going, only that we’re alone.

Try not to see your own predicament in every fucking thing.

Long after midnight, we’re talking about our first time

I would always rather be happy than
dignified. Rather held than held
in awe.

In my universe, my arm carries a heart and flowers,
my back a misguided quote