i told you inaccurate things
in numerous ways
but i’ll be there when it snows in july
i’ll be there

you are a girl-shaped forest
a thing on fire
we are running away together
into an even greater forest

i will never be enough
i will never amount to anything other
than a blunt knife
i cannot be the dragonfly across your chest

does my name sound like a train whistle to you
or does it sound like birdsong
every morning a sky is painted
over the other, more hollow sky

the peach pit of my heart,
stuck between the teeth of the tree that made it
there’s nothing left to do
life is a ring of red beads

i pretend to be lost
so you will go door to door with me
looking for a familiar face
looking for you

I was mailed in a suitcase,
I was thrown into the dark to reckon with my thoughts.
why do I sleep?
at the funeral they told me to wake up.
they shook my shoulders.
I climbed out and replaced myself with sticks.
I threw in a match
and closed the lid.
the imprint my body had left
expanded until it was the whole world,
the universe, a plan, a fragment
of the map I spit into your palm.
all of it burning.

the tree—
how clear its edges are, no limb
obscured by motion. we sit where the largest branch
dips. i climbed first, moved over so you could sit next to me—
death making room for life,
as much as possible;
but falling headfirst would be too much room.
if it is my own will binding me,
i cannot be saved.
what am i to you?
a twig for your nest?
dry, leafless thing, placed delicately;
a marker of spring?

so pretty i could have imagined her
//
the heart is a continuously open wound
her heart in my hands, pulsing, bleeding
crawling down and off my fingers
ruby, garnet
//
i love her and she’s miles and miles away
and she doesn’t even know i feel like crying every time i see her—
when i’m on the roof and the street calls out to me
i think of her

we sat at the base of the hill that rose
darker than childhood behind
us, watching the adults standing supervised
in the courtyard and the sun like
a searchlight lurching from its socket; drawing
out our parallel shadows as it set.
we had the problem of age:
that desire to linger, not needing
even to make a contribution anymore;
just planning to fix things as they broke
and stare at the ground.
and then the children came running,
and how strange it was to be the thing
someone was running to;
how strange it was that they
were alone and we were not.
i have not always lived like this, you know.
but there they were,
the young one wearing a blue coat
nearly falling from a tree as
we walked away.

late april: a girl and her father
at the milwaukee zoo.
he holds her on his shoulders
where he cannot see her.
she stares straight ahead
into the world her father sees:
animals in enclosures.
“i feel so sad. they’re all gonna die,” she whispers,
and her father is silent.
across the path, her mother
sees with pleasure how alike they are—
father and daughter.
peaceful creature and quiet captor.
soon the girl is laughing
her stark laugh, a noise that
should be kept a secret, for it means
she does not feel trapped.

i was directly in the center of a bed of grass, mown
so neatly it could have been your grave—
a plain green canvas, marked by no stone

if you truly were buried there, i didn’t know
i placed flowers there just in case
i was directly in the center of a bed of grass, mown
every day by a man as pale as bone
i never knew him, but i considered him brave
a plain green canvas, marked by no stone

i remember when you said the moon was something you owned
now it shone above this place:
i was directly in the center of a bed of grass, mown

so neatly it could have been your grave, unknown
sayings not yet engraved, i forgave
a plain green canvas, marked by no stone

i can’t tell now if i’m alone
i don’t like the explanations i gave
i was directly in the center of a bed of grass, mown
perfectly, almost like a representation of my home