Route 8, Pennsylvania (revised 6-4)

My sister sits behind the wheel of Betty,
our yacht, our silver Buick
and memories seep out of us like golden sap.


Remember how Dad used to burn
the webs of gypsy moths with his lighter?

With ribbons tied around their trunks,
trees were selected for cutting.

We made the sign of the cross as we watched the flame.


Remember how he set us on the backs
of horses that didn’t belong to us?

Our little legs felt the tickle of coarse hair
as mom stood behind the fence,

crooning Rhinestone Cowboy,
recalling her own Appaloosa pony.


Remember how we thought
I’d never be able to drive?

I’m quiet in the passenger seat.
No need to mention the fainting,
the unconscious stretches of silence.
All that blood to test, to fill up tiny tubes.


We miss our exit on the highway,
wind into the terrain with rivers
like open incisions between the hillsides.

I glance over as you run your fingers
over your scar, healed just above your heart.

This City (revised 6-1)

flips me upside down
shakes my ankles with rough hands

instead of loose change
I’m full of antique pearl buttons
red thread, and ticket stubs
for movies I haven’t seen


right-side-up and red-faced
I smooth my skirt against my thighs



I want to drift back
to the white of what’s left
the white where I began

and close the space around me
like petals in reverse

Sweet Season

who are we in this berry territory,
this forest meant for fur and eyes
that shine like marbles in the sun?

this sweet season yields melons,
syrup and sap, all of which
make sticky hands, sugary regrets.

the sun overhead rips my world into
skinny wisps of silk and burlap,
and weaves them into my hair.


if you could see me now, coated in light,
in the rainbows of oil spills,

I would kiss you as if cherries
grew in soft bundles in our fields,

as if tart meant something else.

Don't Sorry, Be Sappy

I was caught in the pantry
eating roses straight
out of the can.

I believe in those winged purposes.

He says my lips are like petals,
so now I can show him the
tumble of pink, the fluttering
of things behind teeth

as I open my mouth to say Hello,
how are you? I made your simile true.

Our world feels like pulling suspenders
away from our lungs and breathing
in the orange light of certain subway trains.

Each day is an armchair
and the stuffing tumbles out the back.

kittens crawl inside, fill the space
with purrs and heartbeats.

Teeth Dreams

Here on the third floor,
the wind shakes the couch,
my teacups rattle in their sleepy saucers.

The taste of tooth-smoke still whisps
through my gaps. My cheek continues
its lonely swell that muddles my speech.


How can there be so much dark
inside these tiny pebbles of teeth?

Clenched in my sleep, they crumble
under dream-pressure, lean on each other
until my pink gums let go,

untwine fingers from holding hands,
and I awaken with the hard truth
of a round tooth-moon
to throw into the sky,

and the heat of unformed, unsaid words
buried in my pink gums.

Light

I hold my breath in these quiet times
of no garbage men, can collectors, and
girls with whooping coughs.

I have stopped growing, like a
moon and stars watermelon,
root vegetables in this dry season.

In other words, I have stepped outside myself.

I peel my fingernails like tiny oranges
on the subway, litter the floor with milky crescents.
This is what they call an automatic response to stress.


Once I arrive home,
a pink hand with wide fingers
blocks my view of the sun.

I lie, naked back to carpet,
peer around joints to see light.

Boston Spring

In Boston, spring is sudden,
like a twist of gin, or an evening storm,
sliding out of the dark like an oil spill.

It’s a snail with the sun in its shell,
galloping along like a mint pony.



Heart-shaped graffiti appears between
morning and evening commutes,

steady as a song, staccato as a bobby pin
falling to the tub as I soap up my hair
on these bright bird-mornings.



It’s as soft as two eggs, over easy,
with butter sliding down the slopes of toast,

turning into a fat pool of yellow,
catching the light in its diameter.