I search for yesterdays and tomorrows
because today is too hard to hold.
The moon lifts off the tree’s muddy bark, pushing through foliage, on its way home. It has been away too long, it thinks as it moves back to position
count the questions/countless questions/silence falls/from tongues
I married the wrong brother./This is what my grandmother said to me./I married the wrong brother, see./We met, my girlfriend and me
he is a water sign/she is a fire sign/both signs are masculine/a fight to the death
his eyes never leave/her fingers/her fingers never/leave him/ my palm pushes/its way into her skin
above the city, a burden./dreams of leaving,/dreams of returning;/the next morning,/I do not resist.
water puddles at angles of life-sized amethyst/squirrels the colour of autumn/steal away/their pockets stuffed with sunflower seeds/yellow bellies
He speaks. his hands touch her face. intimate gestures. they share. I watch. his hands. read his thoughts. he reaches across. the swell of her face. the weight of his finger against a shadow
On your trip to our apartment/in the city/the one time/you dared fly, braved the skies/you asked my sisters/why/there were no photographs/of you
asleep in the crease/ of my/ lifeline cradled flesh bloodless/ against rosy/ palm/ she slipped/ away taking/ my breath/ with her
a black, strapless dress/hints at/black ink pressed upon/the small of her back/where his hand last slept
Holly bushes can survive/in clay ground, but prefer enriched soil./They are, after all, princesses.
The stars line up to measure this,
a chance to dream and reminisce.
you hate to swing your legs out from the night’s fray/to press your feet onto the steady hardwood floor/and step into the dark field of the day
we tell ourselves we could have lived
a life of famous blue overcoats
Splayed hands of evergreen trees
encourage wind
across an acre of rural land
land marked by a phrase, unknowingly borrowed:
“God’s Little Acre”
The land left handprints on her body
in ways she had not counted on
a place to turn when life pulls a fast one
:::
Beyond Great Lakes basin
past remote borders of northwestern towns
to
a place where high-rises spy on tricky
sidewalks, lovers [...]
A son reaches/back, reads a story about/a section hand who stood
Measured by consonants,/guilt is a misstep of language.