Who has back and crack hair Whose kid smokes pot and from which window Which septuagenarian wears frilly white underpants
a potpourri of goldfish, crayons, and Thai fish sauce Charles Griffes a grubby little book about Evangelicals 16 used masks
DNA, like an invasive species, draws our epilogues onto our faces. You can bet your fat black watch on it.
you need a snorkel to breathe you can see the grass sweat beads you can grow morels on your face
after her mastectomy, my grandmother let me sleep on her breast inserts– they smelled like silicone and cookies– love’s complicated
terrowfully*–imagining your injury–repeating no no no this was her way this is not the only way to love *(terror + sorrow+fully)
turning off lights leaving my shoes by the door eating what I take and brushing my crumbs into the sink
Remembering Jean no-bake cookies cooling in the kitchen an accordion in the garage fireflies and a strawberry patch between
Have you ever noticed how signs point out the obvious? “Lane ends.” Yet no one says to them, “Yeah. Duh.”
Nailed the Mom Olympics when I dug a splinter from my daughter’s finger with the post of my silver earring.