No Wake (2022)
loosen the sails in
choppy water.
three stops to go
just fell right through the doors
and nodding off on the window.
just teal and grey shaken around.
something missing
steps all out of order,
chewing through yellow tape;
sour taffy
November Dream (2022)
through the tunnel
water rushing
upsidedown pillbug boat
carry it on my head
lost at the port
my boat’s disappeared
canals widen
left on the dock
eyes open
Buoyancy Test (2022)
Going down by the water
for my weekly buoyancy test.
Still too hollow.
Playing a game of chicken with myself
and laughing just a little bit
Untitled (2022)
Kneeling, picking at the lock for days
my fingertips are bruised and bloody.
My mother comes and lifts me off the ground,
lowering my body into iodine bath.
Every limb disappearing
into opaque brown pool
Cicada Summer (2019)
Flat on the grass. The intense heat evaporates all of the surrounding voices. All I can hear is the sound of distant construction pounding away. I trace my hands over my chest, clawing at my ribcage and pinching the skin in between. My eyes trace the path of the dragonflies flying above. My vision blurs as my eyes fill with saline. In the tree behind, cicadas buzz violently. In a few months they’ll all be shells on the sidewalk. Carried by the wind and their wings scraped against the concrete. As thoughts pass through my mind, the grass beneath my body lifts up and pushes me towards the pale blue sky. Upwards. Suspended in mid air - maybe even for the rest of the summer. I don’t know yet if I want to come down or not.
Taxi Cab (2019)
Crawling into the cab, I give the address in a raspy voice. My lungs are heavy and full after a long night out. I roll down the window and feel the hot air rush in and beat against my face. The car swerves and jolts and I surrender myself to the movement; my head falls to the side and then back, my shoulders shift. But I’m calm. I actually don’t even know if I am. Uncertainty fills my head to the brim and I can feel it sloshing around inside. Everything passes my eyes quickly as the driver speeds down the avenue. Going through my eyes and then out the back of my head, back into their places on the sidewalk.
Apartment (2019)
Sitting at the kitchen counter. The sunlight sprays in from the window and bounces off the stainless steel countertop and the glass panes of the cabinets. Light blue. That’s what this feels like. No, the kitchen is not painted light blue, neither are the tiles. Just the moment. A clean, calm light blue. Silence, except for the running faucet and the ice machine in the freezer. My eyes glaze over everything; the bowl of fruit - two bananas, an orange, and an apple, the mint green kettle on the stove, the little brown clock on the wall. A little gust of wind comes in through the crack at the bottom of the window and sweeps over my head. Conversation just through coy glances and smirks. I rest my chin in the palm of my hand and as I deeply breath in, my spine stretches and cracks.
I move onto the couch and adjust the pillows so that I can lie down. I put my head down and look at the newspaper, tape, and books that scatter on the coffee table. Just when my mind starts to go blank and my eyelids cement I hear the floorboards creaking towards me. I feel the shadow cast over me. The weight of your head on my stomach. A cloud must have just passed because light pours in through the mesh curtains pulled down over all of the windows. Everything turns gold. Beams of sunlight traveling through sandy curls. The pale beige walls are warmed up and so are the newspaper scraps on the table. Almost too warm. I’m worried that everything is going to catch fire.