I was about to cut away the bruises
until I saw their charm

Reaping the trees
I snagged the deepening black scrapes
it said to me in its way
that I was all remaining hope

I'll hold you in my basket
sweetie
in the kitchen you'll humiliate the others
with your colors

soft to the touch, you squish inward
hardly able to stand up for yourself
splotchy red with shame
warped straight face staring

can you breathe
through those holes?
I was about to cut away the bruises
until I saw their charm
a struggling artist in the fields

you were different with rot
distorted, grieving skin
keeping only the brown of the stem
the way it's usually seen

I only took a bite
to relish the unfamiliar
                                             I'll realize later
                                             I want better

There are orca whales in my ears
but only when it rains
ill swallow the gnats to feed
the bellies and the growing fears
I never know how to greet it

I took the nail filer and carved
two perfect holes directly above my big toes
you can never be too careful
I wanted to make sure my feet knew that sometimes
things happen

I promised my umbrella that if
it could wait another couple weeks
I wouldn't rip it to shreds myself
why is there patience for quitters and
people who hate thunderstorms?

There are orca whales in my ears
but only when it rains
Gave into the cooped clouds,
let them smear cleaner through my roots
swaying instead to dodge the drip
and heaving sighs

Her fingers were covered in corn.
the corn after chewing, broken
pierced, churned- it could spread as butter
thick on stale toast, if needed
"it's fine, don't you worry, we'll get you all cleaned up"
she stared indifferently

Strings dangled from her mouth, unswept
full of necessary greens ---"mhm there there, this will give
you so much energy" --- drags of breath,
half inhale half choke. nothing to look forward to,
not the next soaking glob, not the cursing woman
in the bathroom, not the spill of light to her eyes

Where are the ladles, Did you check on it? The key? Just moved, most the suitcases aren't there yet. Remember to bring the Did you check on it? pay attention. Have you seen my grand kids?
who are you?

Sunday's are for the active ones
The games down the hall are  too far. Why worry with legs, if she could just adjust to the left
the world could sag into an ongoing dream- No demands, no games, no movement.

The nurses hair net had more presence than the splotch of gray against her peeling itchy scalp. Drool leaked from leather lips, dampening the collar of her two month sticky blouse.  Arms curled and locked,displaying under the wax skin cranberry patches-
she never wiped them off. Always the soft murmer of
a snore, always the smell of unbrushed teeth and hampers.

"Did you touch those where don't touch me scott scott scott leave my things alone thevenin I need a stop lying I want to go scott, scott? scott.     I            can't              remember                       any"

I said my name four times before she heard me, knew me
I fixed her pillow and my sister marked off the day on the calendar.
We told her about school, the marching band, each word
filled with forced enthusiasm. She bobbed  her head in circles, lazily
rolling her eyes, the curtain shading the empty space. We spent 30 minutes precisely.

She was more than I realized.
I never knew she had horseback riding, violin playing days. She traveled and  hiked. We could have been close. Unraveling with the mystery, I felt the lateness of my curiosity.
It was 30 minutes precisely, always.

We acted as strangers, reciting routine and wishing each other a happy day and a quiet love you

Humming, the warmed *** of daybreak soothed the hiccups of a spoiled slumber. Yawning, sunlight sweet talk eased our puffy eyed sleep shirts back to the cushions from which they came.
Soon, impatient fingers would press firmly at 11:00, daring contentment to linger in the shadow of honey gold.

Buried in the frosting of blue and gray sheet cake, the blankets coated their chins. somewhere in their hair lay remnants of peanut butter cheesecake and blush; expected phone calls every evening at 6 and clumsy words         that littered three cherry pits              in the corners of my eyes.
                        [ I ]                                               [Love]                                                     [You]
                                                          
                                                              Blossoms, sweet fragrance ----
                                                             ¬ promises, they drift from the branch

I replay your repeat smoke rings, listening to your lukewarm, out-pour of voice. Gritty against my ears - I turn to the wall.

Your thoughts are crowded, littered paper wads and aged banana peels, tossed with Saturday's hopes and wishes. With my need to be seen, I will grow an inch each week, so that by September, eyes upon eyes brows upon brows, no longer will height save you.

Waiting for you to notice,
waiting for you to wake.
What do you see now
that you can
   look me in the eyes?

**** as the lemon drop next to the honey bun stain across the room there are 2 letters. Ordinary as ink upon paper, they mean nothing at first glance.
They will fall
unseen
through the cracks in the floor. Drifting to the place all lost things go to be forgotten.

Only by 11:30 will you notice it is morning and half the bed is made