Off-season and in
the burnt forest
of my nightgown, a feral
...
My siblings and I archive the blanks in my mother's memory,
diagnose her in text messages. And so it begins, I write although
her disease had no true beginning, only a gradual peeling away
...
Once when I was harmless
and didn't know any better,
...
My daughter gathers the seeds she finds in our desert, calls them
spirits — the spirits are us, she says when I worry those orbs in my fingers
...
It happened to me once.
Winter came, and snow quilted every inch.
I stood on the soapbox, as I was told,
...
Just a tick ago, the actor was a Roman candle
shot to the sky, smudged by rain's helter-
skelter. His motivation was: he's a stooge
...
We said she was a negative image of me because of her lightness.
She's light and also passage, the glory in my cortex.
Daughter, where did you get all that goddess?
...
My heart is bleeding. It bleeds upward and fills
my mouth up with salt. It bleeds because of a city in ruins,
the chair still warm from sister's body,
...
I have thirty seconds to convince you
that when I'm not home, my verve is still,
online or if I'm sleeping when you call,
...