The Domestic Interior
All of this time spent
making and remaking home
in my latest self-image,
into bouquets of dried memories
laid out alive before me;
turning down the bed,
like an envelope full of flowers,
Tag: memory
Gathering Rose Petals
to be romantic
to steep in bath water
to float in a cupped hand
to read into
to press in a book and forget
to remember today more than other days
to remember what I like to do
to remember who I like to give rose petals to
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The Sky is Falling
When the Old Man fell,
it interrupted all scheduled programming,
including Britney’s tenth birthday party,
where I was one minute
feeling
to pin the tail on the donkey,
and the next listening
for the sound
of a pin
falling.
Falling
like ashes,
ashes from the sky
in Oregon.
Fifteen years later,
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Things My Mother Gave Me [That I Did Not Ask For]
shoulder pads
a cigarette burn on my left shoulder
her middle name
a battle with me at the middle
second helpings of mashed potatoes
too little pride to succeed, too much to ask for help
how to win Monopoly
how to cheat
how to cheat the system
Nintendo 64
an excuse for asking:
“Do you love me?
Do you love me?
Do you love me?
Really, are you sure?”
love
The Raw Touch
Never is honey as raw
as its origin flower,
at the moment of dehiscence,
giving in to the release
of seeds, pollen, and the quiet
that comes after —
the spontaneous opening
along a single crack
of built-in weakness,
where the wound fails to heal.
Mark how the wisteria behaves,
dripping from a ceiling
in the 1900 block
of NE Schuyler Street;
how its winglike petals
okay poetry 