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

Gravel-scatted hell &
we were blessed to be able
to hold on for even a heartbeat

Just starlight and some small scribbling across vinyl.

It recommended
soft porn, as gentle prodding and petting parent
to parent might calm and soothe the kid.

We stop doing dishes while
a mile unwinds
from the tree outside.

I like to think I’m also sprung,
released from the furnace knocks,
done with the heavy meat stews
and salty soups.

My grandmother asked, “Does it feel like being widowed?”

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

Part of being a good sad person
is always painting the shadows
in the right direction and knowing
what sorrow to art with.

my father holds
his favorite drink

We found in his suitcase T-shirts, his siddur, gifts he bought for his grandchildren…

my friends’ fathers are
dropping
I mean dying
like flies

I tap at the alphabet while a single deer
taps at the dirt beyond the brush
on the far side of the tree line.

I myself should never have been born

You let the yellow glow
from eye sockets. The building up the street
is burning faster and faster.

Even from this distance I could go out
the door it would bang shut and crumble