Fast acting, long lasting
Its smashing!
Girl with no more options.
Animal tests,
Lumps on the *******.
No not on the ads,
We’re selling ***.
Two for the money.
A truck and a honey.
What are we buying?
We’re buying ***.
A girl home for the day
Finds a soft spot to lay,
Take off her shirt
But leaves on her jeans.
However,
Its more than erections,
The scheming perfection
Of using each other
To bolster our greed.
In more than one boardroom
There are people debating
Do we want groom and groom
Or the bride to be black?
The intern will chime in
That “going green” is “in”
And we’ll all ******* buy them
2% recycled handy wipes.
Because our eyes are vacuums
They will always have room
To take in more *******
That falls in our lines.
We watch their commercials
And yes, they’re tear jerkers.
A one legged child
Raised by two Asian guys.
SO WE BUY THE DISH SOAP!
THEYV’E SOLD US!
We did it!
We filled up our carts,
In the store and online.
We swallowed it all up,
Leaving plastic behind.
WE DID IT!
We all worked as a team
To fuel the
Capitalist Dream.
A fabricated human connection
Forged between man and corporation.
We’ve done it folks.
The American Dream.
People against people
All working as a team.

Well, at least for all those who have eyes.

My dad caught me making tampons
From duct tape and toilet paper.
Sat me down and said,
He’s proud of me,
But I shouldn’t have to do this.
He’ll make sure
I have the things I need.
My smirk stares straight past him.
The things I need.
When dad is away we brush our teeth with alcohol.
We mix sugar into water
For our breakfast.
I’ve cleaned wounds with Clorox wipes.
Our medieval, dusty medkit shows no mercy.
We rubbed leaves into our ****** knees
And pretended
That we knew what the **** we were talking about.
With lies about what “elders” taught us.
Or maybe it was just me?
Maybe it was just me
Who curled up on the hearth
Shaking while my shins melted,
Filling the hole under my ribcage
With my fists.
While the kitten froze to death
Under a leaky water pipe.
The things we need.
Maybe it was just me
Who kept living like a refugee,
Or felt I ever was one?
Using one shelf of five assigned to me,
A bag of food packed under the bed
Long into my first years of college.
Living without when things ran out.
Embracing the word “gone”
As a new way of living.
Steak dinners from my father all the while.
Money for band t-shirts?
Ask your mother.
But new sound systems,
Let’s start a farm,
Adopt a sister,
And travel the country
Eating at only old diners.
The things we need.
The things we need.

I started praying
the day the jack fell
when were both under the car.
The way you screamed
No! No! No!
But everything was fine
stayed with me long after
our kids grew tall.
The way everything was fine
while the kids watched in silence.
So I prayed at night
when you were sleeping,
so you wouldn't tease me.
I whispered thank you to the soil
when we turned the gardens each spring.
I kissed thank you's
into the leaves when it rained.
Thank you's to the earth
for growing you.
Tall and strong.
An oak with broad roots
keeping you grounded.
Lacing us together,
splitting us into new life.
Anchoring you to me.
How could I not pray thank you.

Honey, when winter comes
your mom will cry a lot.
Because the earth is frozen and dead,
and her body hurts.
She will sleep longer
and grow spindly indoor vegetables.
But sweetie, in the spring
your mom will sing in the kitchen.
She'll take you camping when its too cold,
and kayaking in the rain.
She'll refer to everything as a beautiful lady
and rhyme your name with plants.
Because the earth is pulsing blood again
your mom will dance on the furniture with you.
She'll take you on walks to feel moss
and tree heartbeats.
And baby, in the summer
your mom will yell a lot.
Because its too hot
and she wants to build a tree house for you.
But the yard always needs mowed
and her hands are always swollen.
And the time just passes too fast
that she'll rush like a flooded river.
Then darling in the fall
she'll tell story after story after story
about growing up on dusty trails
and swimming in thunderstorms.
Then when she's quiet
she'll grow too quiet.
She'll rake the leaves though we don't rake.
She'll run her hand along old furniture.
She'll press leaves and say
you're just like so-and-so
when they were small like you.
She'll smile out the window on car rides.
She'll cry at funny movies.
Its important to be patient,
She's a moon with many phases.

Henry got sent to reform school
after throwing a brick in the neighbors pool.
Got kicked back home at seventeen.
Kicked his brothers any time he pleased.
Taught girls to love him on faded back seats.
Kept reminding his brothers the world can be mean.
Dad punched him in the face,
that's the last we ever saw him.
Saw his brothers last week,
said they missed him, said they'd call him.

Ryan rattled his name like an electric hum
said he never cried, with his mouth around his thumb.
Face covered in freckles, with shifty beady eyes.
Rode the bus one morning with those freckles turned to lines.
He'd hold your hand if you let him
and remind you that he's fine.

Mikey always wanted to spend the night with us.
We told him we were busy from the backseat of the bus.
He said we were his best friends,
could he help our mom around the house?
We told her when he knocked
to tell him we were out.

Last we heard Mike's still working
in the hog barns down the road.
Ryan can't still be five
and I hope Henry's grown old.

My mom said;
You're going to want a bike,
a good one
so it lasts longer.
You'll want a specialized
so you can ride on the road
and the trails.
You want one with lights and mirrors.
She said you want to save
a few hundred dollars.
My mom said;
if you're going to have a bike
you're going to have to take care of it.
Don't let the frame or chain get muddy,
they'll rust.
You have to do touch ups and keep it dry.
That's just part of owning a bike.
She said she found a deal I'd love.
Said she'd drive me there.
Said I need to shop for helmets.
Said I need to buy a rack.
Said before summer's over
I need to get shots, go to the dentist,
visit grandma, write thank you letters, pack my clothes,
and buy a bike.

Teacher said
when zebra's dead
her brains will rot
out from her head

They have no soul
so dig a hole
God has no time
for beasts and moles

The gates are closed
for hooves and sinners
Must stand up straight
use a fork at dinner

God has no room
for even grass or trees
I guess heaven's full
no need for me.

Remember when we'd roller blade
and ***** about our moms?
And in summer we would
swim in caves
and scrape our feet on rocks.

Curled on the shower floor
we'd find crooked cuts
and blue bruise lines.
We'd say they were all accidents.
We'd say the other lied.

And when we laughed,
we laughed too hard.
and when you cried I cried.
We'd both say we were
scared to die.
When on the graves we'd lie.

Three days before you left
you called me beautiful,
which you never do.
One week before you left
you said, I love you so much
its insane.
Three months before you left
we fought about everything
two people could ever think of.
One year before you left
I lay drunk in your arms.
People joked that we were in love
like they always did.
Like we always did.

Grandpa's dead
we get his shed.
Mom says we'll load
it in the truck.
Maple helicopter seeds
spin down gracefully
but his plane; no such luck.
The sun too goes down
while mother's brothers frown
and she leads the sorting crew.
On a tin roof I watch
while hunched adults haul
in hay field three feet tall.
Where Gramp's plane fell
dad prays he's resting well
but I think Mom thinks
he's in hell.

I swung from trees
on homemade knots
to kiss you on the cheek.
While you built rotten tables
and we grew up to be thieves.
You told me you would build our house
when from mine we would sneak.
You said you'd fix the broken boat
in the field where we would meet.
Campfires dulled the stars
but it was the only light we'd need.
We both kept our virginity
too scared to even sleep.
You called me beautiful and perfect
even though I wouldn't eat.
Your dad always cut your hair short
but you knew I liked it curly.


Wind blown hair from dusty drives
getting lost on winding roads.
I never listened to your jokes
and we never stole the boat.

The dogs dug tunnels
under the porch.
Sometimes we dug with them.
Constructing architecture wonders
in the k-9 and 8 year old world.
In these catacombs they birthed
dusty puppies and in the
dark dirt they rotted back to earth.
Eldest brother dug in the backyard.
Said close your eyes,
hold your breath until you get there.
Past Earth's core to China,
we crossed our arms and jumped.
The dogs kept scratching tunnels,
long after we ran off.
Looking back,
maybe they were trying
to dig their way out
like we were.

It started on the drive home.
The new car wash in town
was having a grand opening.
Laughing people eating sloppy Joe
while matching faces in red t-shirts beamed,
their hands full of sopping sponges.
I turned and the words spilled out
after one soft spoken drip.
I wish my family owned a car wash together.
Or a stand at the farmers market together.
I imagined barefooted children
helping old women carry watermelons.
I wish we were the type of family to
own a diner together,
and I'd serve on roller skates.
The flood from eyes and mouth began.
Or own a roller rink, with theme nights on Tuesdays.
Or a gas station, or a drive in movie theater.
I couldn't stop.
I wish we owned a family farm
and took silly photos in muddy overalls
after five AM breakfasts together.
Or ran a summer camp, or an antique shop.
I wish we were the kind of family
that walked 5k's for a cure.
Each confession slammed shut with together.
Each dissolved into the air
like a child's dream to walk on stars.

My mom was always planting ivy
In the valleys of our yard.
She said it was to keep the rain
From washing the earth away.
To keep it all anchored down.
She hoped it would grow over the years
Swallowing the whole house.
But she tried to tie the wrong things.
Because the earth never washed away,
The house never floated off.
If I had known
I would have told her
To wrap those vines around herself.

This is what I remember:
The planks leaned against the wall
would fall if we weren't careful
Tarzan swinging on the frayed black snakes
that coiled around the beams
because if they could still power florescents  
no one ever told us.
We shattered the old windows stacked in the briers
to make our new home shimmer
when we set the hay ablaze
because if they were going to use them for the house
no one ever told us.
We heard dad call the
pit of snakes insulation
but we killed them all with shovels,
couldn't risk it.
Never knowing the real snakes
were slipping under the front door
and though big brothers might have known
we were fighting the wrong war
no one ever told us.
Or maybe we don't remember
when you said to be careful in the barn
but to go ahead and play out there
and not to hurry home.

Its interesting because
the girls were wearing sunglasses in the dark.
They thought it was funny
and it made them feel brave.
And though they were sitting
they felt bigger than the boys
who shuffled awkwardly by the open door,
with their hands in their pockets.
When they would leave
the girls would laugh that
they had probably never
stayed out past eleven.
Probably only had a sip of
dad's beer at a wedding.
They're so lame they laughed,
waking up early for soccer practice.
The boys looked down at the girls
sitting in dusty lawn chairs in the garage
sipping stale beers they stole
from a mother who had too many.
One laughed but it was hostile.
One laughed but it was nervous.
They couldn't believe the barefooted one
with bruised shins was skipping practice.
The team captain rolled her eyes.
What squares. What losers.
This is what young and happy looks like.

Join us!
Join us!
We think you'll like our mission!
We're looking for new members
in the sad girl coalition!
We prefer girls with anxiety
and an affinity for plants.
Feminist views a must,
and a willingness to dance.
Gear needed to fit in here:
a rescue cat, a hammock,
an emotionally damaged cactus,
yoga, knitting, hula hooping,
or some other quirk you practice.
Duties are quite simple;
Defend your girls in online rants
about the current state of the nation.
Comment, "love the yoga pants!"
when a sister nails a headstand.
Click love instead of like
when a member shares the anthem
and keep adding to the ranks
of the sad girl coalition!

God isn't in the church, boys.
Can't find him on your cross.
We looked in all religions
even scoured cathedral halls.
God isn't our father
and he never was a son.
Well, in one way I suppose
our creator actually was.
God, she's in our sunlight.
She's in the air we breathe.
You'll find your God inside of you.
You'll find your God in trees.

I'm leaving you honey.
Yeah there's no other way to say it.
Yes, because I'll never be with you honey.
**** its hard to say it.
I'm leaving you honey.
Do you need me to explain it?
Its a sad kind of funny, honey
because we never really named it.
I'm leaving you honey,
hardest thing I'll ever do.
Spend some time with me honey,
one last time let me love you.

The President of drowned immigrants.
President elect of white supremacists.
President of "Climate Change is a hoax."
President of the Muslim registry.
President elect of uneducated ignorance.
Commander and Chief of disability impersonations.
President of Plan Parenthood's funeral.
President of Grab em' by the *****.
President of "Taxes are for losers."
President elect of bear infested schools.
President of the United States of America.

Hey dad did you know
the chicken we keep
locked in the garage
lays brown eggs
in the dusty stacks
of disregarded things?
Did you know I find every one?
A survivalist Easter hunt
in a salmonella **** shed.
You didn't know because
I never told you, for fear
you'd eat them as a joke,
or worse throw them away.
But you left the door open
and she's gone anyway.

Hey dad did you know
my car broke down on 17th street?
You do because I called you
on your way to church at midnight.
You wished me luck.
You'll pray for me.
You gave me the car,
thank you.

Hey dad did you know
that I once used
your hand made birthday card
to stop the bleeding of a neighbor boy
who thought your Scottish swords were fake?
No you don't because you weren't home.

Hey dad do you realize
you voted against me this year?
I lost my insurance last week.
You do know, but do you care?
You keep saying that you love me.
You yelled at all my races.
Asked for prayers when I had surgery.
Learned the names of all my friends.
Read my poetry when I was 13.

But hey dad did you know
that was never what I needed?

I needed a dad that didn't
have the nerve to joke
about how I made
new families with my dolls,
and friends when I was older.
I needed a dad who instead of
acting like his family was taken from him
kept his together.

And smaller things too.
I needed money for school.
I needed doctor visits.
I need my insurance now, dad.
I needed food, and a dad
who picked me up from school.

And a dad that instead of praying for me
raised me like my life wasn't broken,
raised me like I didn't always owe him.

It almost feels as though you were never here.
Probably because you were never here.

The lights were supposed to be a barrier.
Like salt for a snail,
like the sun for a vampire.
The warm white rope
casting a spell like a mother's womb.
But no no no not here.
A light house beacon and they clamored
like tripod aliens on a crusade.
Leaving my brother shaking as he stands
in plaid boxers with one sock on.
His body weight rests on that foot
the other too vulnerable for touch down.
Are they off me? Are they off me?
He can't stop yelling it,
though I'm pretty sure it was just one.
Its the cold hour of the night
where everything is grim and surreal.
Our skin is pulled tight from our austere faces
and bones poking out.
I am nine and he is eight,
but he's always cried easier.
His clothes had been stripped off so quickly
I know they don't need shaking.
I turn them in, back out, and shake them.
They're off you, brother.
He's embarrased, and wipes his face
as he pulls his shirt down to cover his skinny hips.
Next we shake everything.
A bait and switch and the lights are piled in the corner.
The needle monsters clamor to them as though possessed.
Their radiator humming is unnerving and peaceful.
Teeming is the word to describe it.
Their own Utopia.
They won the war,
we sleep unsoundly, swollen, in the darkness.

Why is everything always about money with you?
My best friend asks as we lean out
over the railing of the tattered tree house
my mom built before she left.
I'm offering to jump for fifteen dollars.
We are eleven years old and the summer heat
is turning us into real *******.
I tilt my head backwards to see the earth upside down
there are rusted bikes and shattered plastic buckets
splashed green from when we used to mow and faded from the sun.
There are walnuts and sticks that look like warty spears.
About twenty feet from the intended landing zone
a possum rots in the laser light slipping through the dark maple canopy.
Two days ago I bet the gang I would kiss it.
A breeze warms and cools us at the same time,
wafting the possum stench as we wave with it.
The support beams are rotting.
Last week we spray painted the worst spots
pink and green and dark purple.
We wrote our names too.
Sometimes we save our quarters for new wood.
Sometimes we laugh and smash the bowing boards.
Do termites love each other?
The neighbor girl told me they're going to Disney Land,
and last summer her dad bought her a second pony.
I have more dogs but no one's impressed.
I'm not actually sure that's a possum.
The horse broke its leg a few years back.
Mom tried to burn him but
Mr. Graber says animals are 70% water.
We picked through the bones until briers took over.
My shirt is stretched out in the neck
with a graphic of an 80's cartoon I've never heard of.
I'm not joking when I call it a hand-me-sixth.
As though I'd taken the jump
the wind is knocked right out of me.
I realize I've been staring.
I mean it to come out brave and angry but it comes as a squeak,
because I don't have any.
Because we don't have any.

Green little brother
throwing up because
he's too drunk
and he cut his hand,
never been brave with blood.

Green to buy greens
asking brother what he means.
Grass stained pants from mowing yards.
Been buying grass, been working hard.

Green grass, brother
do you remember being home?
The way dad let the fields grow
are the blades still tall as we are?
Let's go back so we can know.

Our house smells like paint
of five different colors.
We can't get the cats trained.
Call your mom, say I love her.
Hey babe while you were working
I cleaned off the sky light.
The roof is still leaking,
but at least we see stars at night.
And the grass grows high
because we're too poor to mow
and we laugh all night
acting out the trees we know.
You put my socks on for me
and I show you new dance moves.
You teach me about edible leaves,
and you help me find my shoes.
We can't afford to fix the floor
So honey let's go for a swim.
Babe the cat is at the door,
he'll howl till he gets in.
And you've been joking all June
that you're going to teach me how to cook
But hey, I can make my favorite foods.
You say we might have ginseng,
I say let's go check the woods.

Had I known they were weeds
would I have hated the reeds
that snaked up from the mud floor
changing pond to snarling sea?
Would I have hated the green vines
that wrapped around the gates?
Deemed the yellow flowers ugly,
and despised their honey taste?
Would I have declined the grape vines
that offered Tarzan Swings?
Would I have shushed all the starlings,
and let the cardinals sing?
Would I have ever listened
if told these lives were bad?
Could I have understood
these vines were not to have?
Thrown over the fences
and climbing cabin walls
as a little girl
its hard to tell these things are wrong.

It starts as an after school snack
you share a bag with your brothers.
But things change as you grow,
soon you're eating a whole bag.
Soon its not just a snack
but a meal.
Its not long before you're eating
the kernels too.
At first you try to chew them,
but soon its better to just swallow them whole.
Then you're using your thumbnail
to scrape the butter off of the bag.
It takes forty five minutes,
but you eat all of it.
That doesn't last long before
you're ripping up the bag
and licking the buttery insides.
From there its a slippery *****
and before you know it you're chewing
strips of the buttery bag like gum.
Then one day you do it.
You swallow,
and its not great but its not so bad.
So that's your breakfast from now on,
a bag of popcorn.

I was woken for years
from dreams it was raining.
I swear I found
a drop or two,
I know there's no explaining.
Dreams of ocean storms
or drippy jungle tents
I once woke with a wet forehead.
I know it makes no sense!
It wasn't until a few years later
I caught my brother saying,
It's kind of funny now
he thought it was raining.
As I climbed into bed each night
I ignored what mother said.
I never peed before I slept,
and so I wet the bed.

Little brown girl
with little brown feet
caked with mud
and tangled in reeds.
Little lovely lady
with callous on her soles
over thorns, and rocks
and hot concrete
only barefoot she would go.
And then one day,
I'm not sure why,
She gave a pair of shoes a try,
and since then there's been a change.
She wished barefoot goodbye.
Now she's shoes in summer.
Shoes in snow.
She's growing up,
shoes let you know.

When I was young
My mother painted
My grandmother as distant
And preoccupied with trivial matters.
A woman who could never
Even if she were interested
Understand me.
“That’s just Grandma Mary.”
We could roll our eyes together
After opening the pink dress or sewing kit
She had sent me in the mail.
“That’s just how she is.”
My mother would sigh.
But as I grew I came to realize,
I’m not distant and uncomprehendable.
The only thing that kept
My grandmother from understanding me
Was years of space.
The picture my mother had been painting
Was never of me and my grandma,
But instead of my mother
And her mother.

You asked
What being fourteen felt like.
Well,
It feels like when your teacher drops all of her papers
In the parking lot after school
And it’s windy and you help her pick them up
Chasing down every last one.
And then in class you help her erase the board sometimes.
But still,
When someone plays a prank
Her eyes are on you.
Because your parents are divorced.
And your brother was a troublemaker.
But was he?
He’s been diagnosed,
They call it autism now.
And so you TP her house
Just proving that she’s right
Because after three years in her class
She still can’t spell your name right.
And it’s an easy one.
And then she holds you after class
Because someone stole her stapler
And you’ve never stolen anything
In your whole life
And you don’t know why she’s asking you.
But you do.
So you spray paint her garage
And the whole school knows it’s you.
There aren’t any other suspects.
Because they know that your mom
Doesn’t even believe in God
And they’re pretty sure
You don’t either.
So then you’re standing in her yard
And for some reason the cop that drove you there
Left his lights flashing across the lawn.
And she’s saying things like
I don’t know why this happened.
I’ve always been nice to her.
She needs someone to look out for her.
The adults nod along and she says to you now
If you ever want to come to my house
We can talk or bake cookies and hang out.
And you laugh because you want to cry
Because she’s talking for the cop
As red lights flash across her garage
But you hope she means it.
And you write her a note saying
I’m sorry
And I’d love to come make cookies
But she never writes you back
And she never calls on you in class.
And her son is younger than you
But still he pushes you in the hallways
So you’re even meaner to him.
And now it’s not just her
that knows that you’re a bad kid.
And still sometimes you help her erase the chalkboards.

That’s what being fourteen feels like.

Please don't touch me.
You don't love me.
I'm not hungry.
I'm not fine.

I know the answer.
I have a question.
Where is the restroom?
I'm losing my mind.

Please never leave me.
Do you even need me?
This is not what I ordered.
I'm losing my mind.

I am driving.
Driving and listening to a song
About a flower that wished it was a tree,
And a raccoon climbs on my shoulder.
To my left there is a woman
Pulled to the side of the road.
Her face is flushed red
As she wipes off a white wooden cross
With a white wash rag,
And changes the flowers.
And I’m driving,
The raccoon is chewing on my hair,
And I’m wondering
How I’m going to find her a place
That she’ll be okay.
So I say it out loud.
“How will I find her a home?”
The song plays in the background
And I wonder who I even mean.
I think about the sad boy
From the bus stop a few days ago.

We’re all exposed beating hearts
On this beating heart we call home.
Our needs and motivations,
Radiate with every beat.
Whether we are looking or not.
Whether we help or not.
And we put up these walls
In our lives or in our minds.
But the separation we create
Is just an idea that gives
Power to entitlement and loneliness.
Despite what we tell ourselves,
We are not a single flower
Growing in a raised bed among others.
But rather a petal on a morning glory
That grows in a tangle of squash
And Virginia creeper.
Always growing, and intertwining.
Side by side.
On top and below.
From humans to nature,
From humans to humans
There are no distinctions
That are not manmade.
The lady by the road,
The raccoon, and me
Are all one singular life.
And not only in this
Suspended moment.

Loving Izzy
is so easy
when its easy.
If you're the one
to make her laugh
it fills you
like a breath of clean cedar air.
There are pictures of us laughing.
Our faces pressed together,
our arms and legs tangled.
Laughing until we cried.
It happened. I swear.
And she would fill you up.
From head down to your toes.
You can inhale her smile
and absorb her energy.
She could make any day beautiful.
She was something.
She still is something somewhere.
And loving her was so **** easy,
when things were easy.

I proved myself right.
Not that it matters.
Its not what I wanted.
Now there's no locking eyes,
half a decade later
we're still ******* haunted.
Still disappointed,
though I thought I was helping
you were berated, endlessly taunted.
So then yeah it happened.
It happened, you ****** up
because all my comments.
And yes I still love you,
and yes I'm still proud.
But its not what we wanted.
I should have been more supportive,
instead of always reminding
that this world is so daunting.
Should have been more there for you
should have helped you get through it
instead of mindlessly talking.
And now that we're older,
I'd love to sit and talk this over.
Not that you've offered.

I'll always remember it raining
Though it only rained the one time.
We left the door open as it pounded down.
You picked me up when you kissed me,
because you could do that.
You always helped me with my shirt
but handled yours yourself.
And the rain splashed down
on to that old wooden house.
And the only light in the hall
was from the gray of the storm.
We always talked on our trips there.
Big dreams about how we would paint her.
Once we graduated college and you got the job.
And this would be our room,
and we'd put a rug upstairs.
And you would hold me against the wall and kiss me.
And the rain would come down,
sounding like a train on the tin roof.
Our hair on our arms stood against
the static of the storm
and the cool breeze it brought,
and the warmth of our hands.
And when it stopped, and we stopped
we would emerge into the previously submerged world.
Always knowing we'd be back,
always knowing this was home.
Our little farm house in the rain storms.

Since we moved
There are scattered pieces.
The fallout from explosions.
Pieces of us all
I'm little bits all around us.
Some left behind as well.
A photo of brother sledding
Tucked in the pages of
My algebra book.
Some pink rocks from the fish tank
In the driveway of their new home.
A box of children's toys
In the closet of a dorm.
Displaced and then misplaced.
Six people match the maddness.
We're not moving, we're just leaving.

Four hours left.
That is just two sets of two hours.
Twenty five five-gallon buckets
Up the ladder, on my tiptoes
I dump ice dramatically into the dispenser.
This motion repeats every four hours.
Two sets of two hours.
That is just four one hours.
I change the Pepsi bibs, and break down boxes.
Ignoring my drenched socks from standing water.
I notice there is an orange Gatorade stain on my khaki shorts.
The stench of mold and un-carbonated soda clings to my skin.
I take a deep breath.
Four sets of one hour.
An hour is just sixty minutes.
I mop the floor. Smiling.
Time to lean is time to clean.
An hour is just two sets of thirty minutes.
Thirty minutes.
That is just two sets of fifteen minutes.
Fill cups. “Are you enjoying your day at the park?”
Back in the confines of the station
The roaring fans make conversation impossible.
Never mind that, I work in solitude.
Fifteen minutes is just three sets of five minutes.
Unwavering heat and blinding sun to match.
My arms are tanned brown until just above the elbow.
Polo shirt tucked in, I am allowed one piece of jewelry.
Five minutes is just five sets of sixty seconds.
And a minute goes by in no time.

We had to drown the puppies
Because the mother wouldn't feed them,
Because they had sores and they were bleeding,
Because we could find nothing that would eat them.
Caked in mud not fit for feeding,
Because their mother had stopped cleaning.
Besides we had nowhere we could keep them,
Because there was no one to feed us
And no one to help us clean up
And no one there to teach us
That this burden didn't need us
Or that this shame would never leave us.
That this wasn't ours to fix up.
But we'd been lost in the mix up.
Always waiting to get picked up,
While the trouble only kicked up.
Too heavy for two kids to lift up.
So we had to do it.
We drown the puppies.

Is everything we are
who we are when we're four?
To laugh and to learn
and to always want more?
Is this what it is
to be nothing but nine?
To have dreams and worries
but know you have time?
Is this how feels to be only fourteen?
To be talking all day
but no one hears a **** thing?
Then is this what it means to be seventeen?
To have plans and dreams
Though you haven't started a thing?
And is this what it is to be twenty one?
to have all this time,
yet feel as though there's none?
So are we these people
from the start to the end?
The same or different
or some kind of blend?

I want to build a fire.
Want to lay down beside her.
Want to sleep under the sky
Far away from streets and lights.
Want to fall into the earth
Sleep with no one, only her.
Dig my fingers in the dirt.
Help me remember I am earth.

She was the big dream we all shared.
We snuck in through the windows
and walked through the rooms.
Each claiming one for our selves
or describing how we could use another.
We would lay on the carpet,
playing cards, telling stories,
or most commonly planning.
Planning where the garden would be.
Imagining what the summer nights
would be like with the stars and
the lights from the front porch.
Mixed with the warm air
and the boys playing basketball
in front of the garage.
Maybe we would get a dog.
We would have to refinish the basement.
I wonder if the dishwasher works?
We would be so happy here!
Was said at least once every visit.
Then eventually we would line up
to slide back out the portal we had entered.
Back to being seventeen.
Back to being poor,
back to the trailer for me.
Back to their grandma's for others.
But this quirky, empty house
slowly being engulfed by the earth
she was all  of us.
Purple walls with blue cat prints.
Pentagonal windows knee high on the walls.
Abandoned, weird, but special,
this one dream we all shared.

This day stays mostly in flashes.
A snap of a white dress,
My beautiful cousin laughing in it.
A glimpse of a sunset,
magically cliche as it sank into the lake.
A brief wave of white Christmas lights,
and barefooted dancing on wood floors.
And before even this
there was a walk.
A walk between some kids now past eighteen.
Each with their own wine glass,
though each was sampled by all.
Even Jacob, who is half past fourteen.
And they all shared laughs
as they shared stories,
while they wondered down the crooked path
tucked into the crisp hay field.
And they shared blood
every hour of every day not just that day.
But they could all feel it pumping,
on that evening in October.

Will it **** you
when you get the invite to my wedding
not to be a maid of honor
not to be a bridesmaid
but to sit in the rows in any color dress you choose?
And will it **** you
when my christmas card comes
and I hold a baby you've never met
who has a godmother that you've never met?
And will it **** you
when the internet shows you
that my family has moved,
and I've started a new career,
but you aren't even really sure
what line of work I was in before?
Will it **** you as these years pass
and this title becomes wholey exact?
Or is it okay because
I won't know you either?

You make me want to write
stupid little poems
about how you wash my hair
better than I do.
Or about how I can't sleep
when I'm without you.
Or about how sometimes
you carry me wherever we're going to.
Because I guess,
I think its pretty cool.
And you're pretty cool.
And this is all sort of magic.
But that doesn't mean
it makes good poems.
But like everything
in my life, my notebook
is filled with you.

I wish I had leukemia,
because then at least
I could explain
while I'm always so tired,
and sick, and moody.
And no one would say
"She's not even trying to get better."
or "She did this to herself."
it would be CANCER.
And then I could die
and people would just cry
instead of saying things like
"She didn't even ask for help."
or "It wasn't even that bad."
At least if I had leukemia
I would be allowed to hurt
and maybe I wouldn't feel
like such **** about it.

If I chose to have you,
I felt you'd be a girl.
You would wear tiny dresses
to cover your fat diapers.
Puffy Christmas dresses
for your first picture with Santa.
Little bows in your hair.
And my family,
God they would love you so much.
They'd buy you little dresses
that you'd scrape in the dirt
as you learned to walk.
Little yellow dresses
for your first day of school.
A tiny wedding dress
when your grandfather gave
you your first communion.
There would be miniature shoes
scattered all over the house.
Grandma would braid your hair,
and you'd have your father's eyes.
And we would have all loved you so much.
I realized late one night.