my lovely wonder

I have a spot

that

hurts

I know

it’s hard

to see

m y l o v e l y

WONDER

takes all my mind

off of

and yours akin a kindly

watcher seeing naught

but all

and wouldn’t it be

easy

to f

again

june 3, or lily, or iris

put names to birds, trees,

flowers. a common grackle

tilts its beak. when you

reach the waterfall

you will hear it

loud, drown out fear

drown out gray hairs

thick as string on weed

whackers. for a child

I weep the sound

of wind through oaks

and trace the water

line, eye-ingly. places

I cannot cross,

I will learn you. words

I do not say bud

silent, to lily or iris.

this is sure, june,

sun, this is blood

debt to love sure

june sun to come.

I know the route by flowers

on a saturday at the museum

with my matriarchs in gowns in beds

in rooms I stare at blue

this season will obliterate

it has already left me hewn

has stung my left leg

with bruises

has asked nothing

and told every

thing to bloom

I let the panic march off like soldiers.

june 4

shorten the pew until soil buries knees bent

hands knit hands ask & want to crack

my mother is full of extras

she has one for you, too

when you are ready

when your lamp is an inch too far to reach from bed

when your heart is full of clay

& your swoop churn lump swarms the air

around your eyes to black

(that is fainting. that is letting out your moment over

something in your chest)

I hadn’t known death, yet. hadn’t had a sip of sweeter

than raspberry

had I known what laid below

were I to put my feet down

air? earth? sea?

& a shoot to catch me.

june 7

I work with each day, as she did. I take my upper lid over my lower

to get something out of my eye. there is a seat left, for you. there is

the bark of a dog left in my ear and a love. to take the moss, replace

it with wire? I hear a key & a door, coughing. as though my worries

about the ones I love become strangers in hallways. to hear the story

about a girl & say nothing. a butterfly wing trapped in a jar.

the hot slow pace of day feels like death to me now. how quickly

one becomes the opposite. I walk the few blocks for fruit, a bottle

of wine, discover the tall path. I look down & the food on the belt

becomes sugar. the rose on the path becomes carpentry.

the body knows better than we not to ask for space, but to

take it.

june 8

I want not to answer. the roach is sick, I think,

he sits still, his legs uneven on the cement. we

watch one another for hours, gathering courage.

she does not believe that they can fly & I doubt

my memory (sharp dark wings, soft hum sound)

& ask the internet. & yes, they fly though rarely,

as though they, too, doubt they can. the internet

tells me to drink wine to avoid a cold. the internet

tells me to not drink wine to avoid a cold. the clock

tells me it has been too long in this standoff with

the roach. I have a broom in my hand. I have my

phone to my ear so I can’t use the broom. I set

down the phone with my mother on the line. “don’t

think, just do.” & he is out the door & have I won

or do I suffer seeing him now on his back, legs

wiggle. the internet tells me killing a roach will

attract other roaches. this is what I learned in new

york, too (I was much braver then & caught one

inside a soup can). the internet tells me this is

a myth, killing a roach will not attract other roaches.

in any case, he is not dead, but upside-down

& locked out. my mother says perhaps he

wanted to find somewhere safe to die. should

I have let him? the internet is silent. my phone

rings. I check & he is still there.

june 16

at the beach, she kisses a parrot. she lets

it take a nut from between her teeth. his

man has scar arms. I scroll through stock

photos & dream & feel sick. so many sun

sets.

at the beach, kelly tells me she will take

swimming lessons at school. we both

love to play in water. we both walk

apart from the others so our feet

can stay in the tide, so we can look

for shells and sand dollars.

I wait for all of this to settle. I drive

home late, after the baby leaves, who

looks so small and glossy. table

full of loves & arrows.

I try to practice california. nurture

that your quick look & brow

are not love retook but warm

hearts pierce the cold of all touches.

grow strong like palms & let

the heat let the you are the love

sea skeleton I hold to let the water

cleanse.

june 23

in los angeles, I cannot tell road

kill from child’s toy. evrything

is an illusion. I cannot tell if I am

in los angeles. the saxophone,

the road sound, the car’s distress.

yes. it is the i am here for you that is so sweet

I become a cupcake

& melt into the pavement.

LADYLOVE

so that my spit runs red

so that my soul can remember it is

or was, good

I take one thought at it

her in an apartment there

someone once said I was so good at keeping

a sound startles me

it is an early hour for bed

so I wander into mind’s look

I had so many first

I had so many first loves

and I had no fists for any of them

even when they hurt me

even when upon meeting their lips

an abyss opened inside of me

a doom I couldn’t call sweet only

because I couldn’t call it anything

but black and bottomless

or if we never met, that way

lady lady ladylove

those were the ones that fed me, first

those are the ones that taught me magic

wooing the deep deep deep with laughter