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

Ma wrings
a wet world
of colors

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

this is what I want you to to see:
leaves falling because it is too late for them not to

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

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

Every so often, they add a tattoo
in honor of some long-forgotten love.

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

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

Ghosts for hire, whispers in her mouth,
cysts to feel, the symmetry of a gift.

here is the sky in stop motion, flickering,
a still shot in monochrome

the strands of your hair on the bathroom tiles aren’t sketching defeat. that’s you spitting disease in the face with another day you’ve woken up to.

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

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

my friends’ fathers are
dropping
I mean dying
like flies

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

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