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

You are strange, my mother said, dwelling on the past.

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

I myself should never have been born

my father holds
his favorite drink

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

I am not a guide
for every traveler
of loss.

You’ve spent a lifetime training
for this.

Any still figure at mid-late evening, when the long shadows make even crumbs appear arranged like furniture.

love is a soggy tea stain on a grocery receipt

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

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

You said it was okay to blame
what goes wrong on the planet

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

Should have found a job by now; should have slept in the night;
should have boiled old coffee before noon.

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

we drove on through
the blue seal of morning as the turbines
turned and winked out their hearts

how does an afternoon turn
on its axis?

Mostly he ate what was put on his plate
snuck coffee grounds or dirt for a snack
Once a zipper Unzipped