last day

things I have broken

fish
first, the gold
I overfed to
accompany me

second, the fighter
who jumped
from his cracked
bowl during a fire
when the water
boiled

faith
which I earned
during rides on
Sunday school
bus rides for
oatmeal creme pie
cookies

trust
in those taller
older, those adults
who always had
answers-who always
lied and lied and lied
promises are made
of delicate
porcelin
pots
burnt, scraped
misshapen from
kitchen experiments
hidden from a
mother who
rarely bothered
to use them

pipes
coke cans
glass pipes
pens, tubes
all crushed under
sneakers
evidence thrown away
poker face

lava lamp
hurled at my
sister, who’d
torn a friend
apart
a book, romantic
in nature
that soothed me
through long
nights
waiting

a small window
on the door
of a small house
I was locked out
sobbing, moving
from bad to bad
choices are not always
choices

my body
stomach stapled
removed, the ugly
part of myself
always hungry
yet despite its
absence-that
hunger never
leaves

day 29

my dog’s nose
is too short
I imagine he
was bred that way
to add humanity

or maybe something
like bling to a ring
or how one would spell
B.O.S.S. in diamonds
on a plastic dixie cup

his face is pushed together
so he sneezes incessently
as though he were
allergic to himself

he cannot see nor smell
past himself, he
pushes his nose
against stone and glass
unsatisfied with distance

his nose really should
be longer, perhaps the
size of a small pencil
or random stinkbug

I would give it a two
out of five, until
an upgrade is
available

day 28

he talks of paths
as though a ring
can be a bridge
as though a slap
can be that left
fork you never take

he talks of bridges
like tasks that
must be completed
one step, two step
a slap for not
playing hop-scotch
along the way

he talks of crossing
always one way
never looking behind
never holding hands
there are no
road buddies
there is empty
air between us

he talks of ending
the light at the end
maybe a tunnel
maybe a hallway
only the light
dims with every pace

I replace my shoes
with bare feet
walk instead onto
the newly shorn
grass just past
that bridge-I
don’t want to
reach the end
his hand can’t
breach that gap

the green under my
toes, tickles
I feel it in my nose
my fingers, the crook
of my arms

he doesn’t wait long
they never do

day 27

hay(na)kus
write-
you letters
you-never answer

computers
speak to
my inner life

books
speak to
my wondrous life

those
letters-you
must lose them

mothers
are tipsy
falling over things

genuine
never appears
on our skin

girls
lips touch
signs go up

cake
never too
much-too little

day 26

I have always
enjoyed the taste
of the exotic

ripe plums
red strawberries
the blood red flesh
of the orange
the sweet tang
of fresh wine
pressed between
the feet of small
women in wooden barrells

my mother
she warned me to
be careful

some food
is dangerous
she said

some food
takes you
places
you never
come back
from

I listened
as any good
daughter should

yet when he
showed me
his palm
carrying
that seed

I could not
refuse

I have tasted
death

I have tasted
life

both are bitter
both are sweet

day 24

did you see
the shooting?
the man-they say
he had no arms
he ran-the video
caught it all

stumbling-wounded
antelope
loping towards
away-or home
maybe just
away

there are arms
holding guns
tazers-hard to
tell in the bright
sunshine

there is death
no screams-
only animal
grunts-falls
mournful howls

they say-
he had arms
they say-
he has none

does it matter
then?

day 23

she sits for two hours watching that television show that ended an hour ago.
sometimes she sighs as though moved by the actors or perhaps the stars all
lit up. we’ve taken the toaster away. the stove burners. the microwave. she
once tried to boil an egg in there. splattered like small animals under cars.
we took her rocking chair. or Larry did. made it so she can’t rock or lift
the feet up. she kept lifting and rocking until she’d knocked chips off
the wall behind her. it’s mostly the accident. can’t blame a girl for the
parts of herself that are missing. though when she throws her food or screams
so loud I have to put my hands over my ears i wish i could. i wish i could
lay blame for all the trouble. the late nights. the divorce and what came
after. it’s a mean wish, to be sure. she won’t mind. she never does.