"6 years old, brunette hair, pink dress."
"I’m with the grandmother."
"Last seen?"

Later they found her by the moon star wall.
It sang her arrival to hold a stranger’s hand and, grinning, she skipped to her grandmother’s arms.

I remember my primary school
which was all large hallways and shiny shoes

library
which was all popsicle stick projects
and a round reading room

after hours and finding a book about art.

I showed it to Mrs Romano
who was fat in a pleasant way and wore round glasses

and she said “Picasso?”
and
i said
"yes."

he says don’t get too comfortable
i say it is not in my nature to do so

this is a man who stood on the edge of the mountain to make me laugh
and moved across the country three weeks later

he invited me in to see his stained glass window
but i had work in the morning and anyway his hands felt like

the roots that grow out of potatoes that you leave too long in the cabinet
knobby and altogether alien, uncomfortable and unyielding.

he plays with light and i have nothing to do with it
no emotion compared to Popsicle Boy or to the ever-logical Elbows.
(i thought i should bring him up because i love him)
but he let go on the day that I was concerned with the pottery wheel
and it was graceful and unimportant at the time

now its all a wash
and i miss the clay hidden behind my knees on the days we’d climb up to mountain for ice cream and giggling.

crooked teeth houses push
"i love yous" to the front porch of my mouth
in an earnest attempt to
set the sun down to a slower tempo
hoping if i can hold onto this city
on the day we almost crashed
then i maybe i’ll be able to hold onto him

i can’t kick the words past my lips so i
try to keep holding his hand
even though he needs to shift gears

he tells me that he likes it when i kiss him on the mouth
i like it when he’s cursing under his breath because things are so beautiful
i want to see him naked every single day

he told me when he shaved his face
and even though i already knew about it
when i saw it in person i squealed
and i couldn’t stop kissing his jawline
even though we were in public
and even though i’m pretty sure i tasted like macaroni

it’s the razor's edge of winter
and kissing you smells like mustache wax.

you drive me to the hardware store to pick up galvanized wire
so that i can build miniature shadow people
that make us laugh for hours

it’s hard to find the soft parts of you to rest my head on
but it’s always the simple parts that i like best

my anemic blood the color of saffron
is running out of my back
and into the bathwater

my sister is screaming
quarter past a freckle
and she jumps out

the metal faucet where the water
pours out in gallons
is sharper than I thought it was.

It was cold and I was tired
so I fell asleep
with the taste of Sunday still in my mouth