June 24, 2022

Talk to me
voice in the static
reverberating
from my heels to my skull.

Tell me there are areas of space
that are time-hot and
I will picture my mother’s stove—
with the clock set wrong for bonus-time—
its most used left burner
a glowing spiral in space.

If you ask I will tell you
about the irises again,
how they arrived divinely and silently,
as most treasured things do,
below my bedroom window
when I was born.

Tell me something that matters
so our breath will travel higher
than our bodies could ever reach.

I want the Universe to see
through me with piercing accuracy,
not as a surveilling god but
as an eavesdropper who sees
a part of herself in me.

The stars
are the dust
at the end
of a lens

as I lie bare
on the dock,
willing specimen.

Clouds break,
the first coin toss
of sunrise, clattering
across the bay.

Only I brave the cold.

June 24, 2024
Parade of planets aligned
Roe v. Wade overturned