cloud forest

my baby taught me what’s good about being alone:
the magnetic pull of grace—

wisteria, cafe molido, sky laced with western gulls
every morning with the windows gaping
spores of spring sneaking up flesh sleeves
brushed tin percolator brim boiling to the
temperature, despite the altitude, of my own
heightened senses right now
swinging clocks and quiet trees at work
we learned how to break time when we challenged the sound barrier
but i just want to enjoy right now this moment
to salivate a memory

right now, how do i get back to that place
must i faint at the fringes
(is there no other way?)
must i always need like rock’n’roll
cups of steam, herb-stained teeth
slithering into a black dress in the essential mountain fog
mistaken for someone else only for the night
candle burning between me and a serious man
downed our drinks and steeped our bodies in the harbor
thick tannin made for muddy water
we couldn’t sludge out of—

(that was years ago.)

right now, i toe-grip the sand near world’s end
but not lonely,
thinking how you’d enjoy the view.


okay, cupid

I keep asking,
where do the flowers come from?
a single girl could only wish
after the 9 to 5
to arrive home to a table flocked with flowers,
but in this house
there are 5 of us
and in this house
we sleep alone in queen-sized beds
on faux fur (“vegan”) cloud nines,
jungle musk surrounding us,
a salubrious mix of sage cleansing,
sex positivity and dirty dishes

you could say we are the queens here,
each reigning her own lonely corner
whether she fills it with stuffed animal jesters
or loyal empty-chinese-takeout subjects,
if she chooses sex over sleep
or sleep over sex
and makes a lot of noise during each
is clearly up to her,
she pays the rent she owns the space

but please, honey, close your door for once
privacy is not always a luxury, but a courtesy
in her double helix, momma gifted me OCD,
have you ever heard of microchimerism?

I’m sorry I woke you up at 5am
I was mopping your coffee spills off the floors
someone’s gotta do it
and my whites won’t get any whiter,
no matter how hot I run the water
so no worries over the electric bill making us broker
than our millennial upbringing already set us up for
the only rule in fem-land is we don’t moan about college loans
(but for everything else, it is encouraged)

plus there is more energy used in flicking the lights off and on,
you would save more money
if you weren’t a statistic
what I mean is, did you know female twenty-somethings consume the most wine?

we’re each our own flavor of anxious,
deciding if we should work on our linkedin page or
smoke a bowl on the porch (yes, in front of the children)
and go to the hills for some fresh air
how about we find a protest?
or go out for some overpriced tapas and mojitos for once
like all the other young professionals?

those flowers, by the way, they’re for me
from some hopeful
I can’t remember his or her or their name

going home

you tell me that I could
leave my hometown,
if only I could break attachment
with people and tree stumps,
forget what it’s like to ponder through
the eastern woods
and learn to like a tall building
and the convenience of a short walk
to the corner liquor store

no, it doesn’t sound so bad,
does it?
what would you do for love?
I ask my friends
— and they know nothing of it.

I’ll tell you the truth, babe
as long as I can see the sky
every once in a while
in all it’s glory,
acid rain and chem trail streaks
burning red like arteries
in a coal stove,
I think I’ll be alright

like a heart missing home,
mine ignites for you.