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sometimes I sweat so much
when I’m with you
that I have to close my eyes.
the salt rushes in, leaves them
red and thumping like cherries,
like hearts, like songs I have
and want to give to you.
there are things in the air
that are meant to be seen.
there is a white light
in this room
praying to be let out.
there are so many sounds
tonight and I can’t tell
if it’s only you
trying to make
the least amount of noise
as you tiptoe down the hallway
on these hardwood floors
with nails that cry
in this humidity,
or whether
it’s all these cicadas.
it is the season,
after all.
we are the ones awake
and listening.
this is a maiden
who tames.
she shows her teeth.
there are apples
in her eyes.
they fall
from the tree
before they are ripe.
before she knows it,
the bees have arrived
and are drunk. on her.
on this fruit. this sugar.
things brown so quickly.
she cut corners in loving you.
she lies still in the grass,
reaches heavenward,
and closes her eyes.
you are the largest star
I have ever discovered.
you open your mouth
and I see nothing
but ruins.
when you place
your lips on mine,
I forget what elegy means.
this is what it feels like
to be colorblind, to be tender,
to finally realize
that the world
is crooked.
all I can think about
is the way your face
hit the pavement.
poppies bloomed
from your knees
and all the world
caught a glimpse
of those bruises
like violets
on the backs
of your thighs.
this is not the way
I would prefer to dream.
I knew I was dreaming
because milk flowed
where blood should be.
your body promised me
this couldn’t possibly
be real.
the way I see it,
the desert winds
through your plush
pink stomach.
you keep faith.
grab on to the split ends
of my hair and pull tight.
I will call you divine,
no matter what
the cosmos believe.
our Buick caught
a barb in the road,
a thistle that sent us
hurdling.
we learned that if you
keep swinging
your rosary like a lasso
in front of the driver,
things will not
end well.
first, the impact.
second, the silence.
third, the prayer.
away from my body,
I found myself in a very gloomy place.
from the rafters, it’s difficult to
separate wonder from amazement.
from my own mouth, I told you
I’d wear those fires like a gown.
I want the flames to lick my heels,
fit snugly around these hips.
these thickets treat me well.
the waves thrash around these bones
and I know they will not break.
I held myself
underwater
hoping to reach
a state of grace.
as if someone
switched on a lamp,
the surface glowed.
I spread my arms wide.
I predicted this
velvet hunger,
this curling of my fingers.
I knew everything
would grow
this quiet.
my breasts were
ships-in-bottles.
my eyes spun
like compasses.
in bed, I told him
I felt resurrected.
I asked him
to take me
back to the river,
to those derricks
that spout no oil,
to those rusty bridges,
to the crumbling train trestles.
my heart throbbed
like an egg
as red as the sun.
he plugged his heart
into the sun’s socket
and sent his mind
spilling.
he thought he could
conquer the heat,
bottle it in mason jars,
keep it for the cold.
the sun gave and gave
until nothing remained
but fingerprints
on the glass.
I check the weather
compulsively,
as if it’s going to say,
oh, I was mistaken!
storms all day!
they are all yours!
this brush fire
in my throat
must be here
for a reason.
these days,
anything ignites.
there is a bird
that hovers
over the foot
of my bed.
it coughs
when I cough,
but its throat
sounds like music.
mine scratches
prized vinyl.
he told us
that dying happily
felt like an apple
being sliced open
to reveal the sky.
his hands were
the whitest birds.
we cried
and he told us
it was sap
from the tallest trees.
he told us
that as we fell asleep
the orchids would bow
in the night.
the lakes would
reflect more than
just stars,
and all the foxes
would lie down
quietly
and keep us warm.
I waited all day
for a storm that
never arrived.
the phone swung
from its cord
off of the cradle
the windowsills
sagged, and humidity
stopped all the doors
from closing.
I cut the air
with the largest knife
I could find.
it sliced clean open.
I never expected
it to cry.
it was full
of stars.
how does it feel to be
the daughter who ran
furthest away
from the river?
from those velvet hills
from those closets
with too many quilts?
I watched you
from the window
like a devotion.
you are
the very thought
of guilt.
I opened my mouth
and all the four-leaf clovers
I’ve collected over the years
fell out.
The antique slips I use for curtains
are stained with storm. This night
is so brittle.
Music thumps above me.
The dogs from behind the wall
yap and yap over the whir
of all these silver fans.
I sweat out
all my grace.
The lake laps up the shore
like a thousand wolves.
I’ve never seen water
so black.
This body never freezes,
so I’ve sailed to the middle
of this season. The moon
was a plum and the juice
ran over my chin. The stars
are soft-boiled.
I’ll float out here and wait
until they pool
into dawn.
This is one of those days
where I expect you to look back,
to say, Oh, really, I didn’t mean all that.
I lean over to touch your thigh
and you shrink back and flip on
the lights. The room screams no.
I know I said I could live
without this. I know that much.
As you turn away, my lone candle
sets the room on fire. It starts
with the curtains.
I let it burn.
no one could figure out
how his face, as sudden
as the moment an apple
falls from the tree,
printed itself on the dress
you wore that day.
he only stood across the room
from you & your blushing.
his smile leapt out from behind
those lips and you were hooked.
the room swelled,
the windows rattled in their frames,
and there it was, right on the front
of your circle skirt.
clear as the vodka
used to spike the punch.
you ran out of the dancehall,
down to the ladies’ room.
the mirror reflected his eyes
right back into yours.
you felt him breathe
warmly on your stomach.
something was awakened.
