My stomach hates me for the toxins I indulge in
Swallowing my teeth trying too hard to take words back

I will remember your words
You bury under the sycamore the sun has burnt
I will remember them till I drown in the oxygen my grandmother pulled from a tank
Lead in her lungs from persimmon jelly and fig jam

Mister John's dog still wanders the neighborhood
His master is dead under the turnips

I haven't loved hard enough or well enough

I miss my 50's cluttered gold mailboxes in that quiet haunted hotel to apartment, one bedroom no one sleeps in
The fridge keeps me company
Because you're not home
You are not home

Violent daises over black
Fade on my t-shirt
The washing machine ate too much

My hot tub caught on fire
Mother in the shower
Thank god the neighbor was home