I want to roll in this moment until I become its vocabulary
until I smell like the bones
until I am its echo…
You’ve spent a lifetime training
My grandmother asked, “Does it feel like being widowed?”
It is the 70s. 1970s? 2570s? Who knows?
Audre and I have a penthouse in New York.
The storm passes without snow.
The car waits loyally in the back lot.
Do not say anything anybody else has said ever. Things are not “bleached by sun.”
you quit wearing pants
loaf around your yard
in hole-nipped panties
There is so little left of the tomato plants.
Should have found a job by now; should have slept in the night;
should have boiled old coffee before noon.
I tap at the alphabet while a single deer
taps at the dirt beyond the brush
on the far side of the tree line.
Even as the sun warms the concrete
the long nights’ sensual cold lingers in my clothes.
Just starlight and some small scribbling across vinyl.
I buy too much, for someone of my stature.
could pawn a skinny metaphor to purchase a plump skin.
its reputed in our lineage— to daydream a life that shreds our pockets.
and apples, mackintosh mostly, but any kind left in The Pub
at the Assisted Living Place
Mostly he ate what was put on his plate
snuck coffee grounds or dirt for a snack
Once a zipper Unzipped
Gravel-scatted hell &
we were blessed to be able
to hold on for even a heartbeat
In my universe, my arm carries a heart and flowers,
my back a misguided quote
Any still figure at mid-late evening, when the long shadows make even crumbs appear arranged like furniture.
We stop doing dishes while
a mile unwinds
from the tree outside.