Bring me your pain, love. Spread
it out like fine rugs, silk sashes,
warm eggs, cinnamon
and cloves in burlap sacks. Show me
Finally, morning. This loneliness
feels more ordinary in the light, more like my face
For months my daughter carried
a dead monarch in a quart mason jar.
To and from school in her backpack,
The women in my family
strip the succulent
Bad things are going to happen.
Your tomatoes will grow a fungus
and your cat will get run over.
Someone will leave the bag with the ice cream