This morning
when making cupcakes as penance
for not visiting a friend
for not getting a Mother's Day gift
for not wanting to meet a sister
who shares my name
a second language
and no DNA

I saw my brother
Clinging to the railing by his elbows
and swinging his legs off of
the porch steps
I thought for a minute
about yelling at him to stop
and teaching him to fear
four foot drops

But back then
I didn't think I was nearly
as finite
as I did this morning.

The woman sitting
at the adjacent table
has left and the bus boy hasn't noticed.
A fly
could land on
the skin of her milk.

Swirling my tea
The leaves swim
to meet and cling
to other debris
like the orange rind
previously stuck
to my teeth.
I’ve installed
a filter, so as to
preserve
their flavor.

I attended the funeral
of my high school girlfriend
the pathologist told me
there is leathery, plastic
skin
covering every *****
Inside her belly
were waxy
fetal fingers
almost born.

Café is closing
So I empty the contents
of my pocket
hoping the bus boy
will come for me.

I love you
As a tree moving by the highway
Has started growing to accommodate
The cars constantly moving by.

5,000
Maybe this time next year
I will hit five figures.
And maybe a third of them
Will mean something.