The lotus bobs to the current's
cursive, a snow sud residue
tracing atop listless riverwater.

When it brushes against my
ankles a petal splits like a
broken letter, your goodbye.

There was so much left unsaid.

my abuela kneads my hands
like masa. thrift store perfume
dusts her dough crust fingers
and chokes the hundred years
of her kitchen like yearning.


abuela


¿cuándo dejó de cocinar?

your love was a single daffodil
plucked bashful and gifted tough
to promise and to keep and to grow

it lived from the rainy windowsill
swayed to midnight playlists
inched towards your voice

but it was just
a single daffodil--

it's petals still bent in the shower

and it was only promised
until your breath came
loveless and wild,

it was kept only until
you told me
we had grown apart

it's just a mess of
hues and kaleidoscopes, but--
your curves are so true

it's three winters late
when you feed his sweater
into the fire's maw.

the yarn blackening
to the satisfied
crackle of wood.

we signal the sky
smoky contrails
reaching sand to horizon.

someone,
phone the medic

i think
her heart
is breaking

at the top of clouds
sits perching heavens
each gape in whitedust
breaks the raging sun
hot as a devil's glare
scattering the angels
scalding our eden

there's elegies
in your throat

you'd sing
love to sea
march lead
to the shore

leave a tundra
for us to stand
terre smooth
mahogany

i will never be
truly yours
but for that moment
your hair is warmed
by a checkered sun
and the courage is
easy in my body
like the summer doe
gliding to pine's edge
nose dipped to pond
tasting the words
before you speak
i will never be
as young

a whitetail drinks
to the summer leaves
drifting home


hear me
sunshine