to the Northern Lights
37 Perch Bones and Apple Aubade
38 This Sugar
39 Too Many Cooks Spoil the Broth
40 Psyche & Cupid: A Reimagining
41 Venus Instructing Cupid to Torment Psyche
42 Psyche Considers Her Last Letter from Cupid
43 Upon Hearing the News You Buried Our Dog
44 The Body
46 One-Star Reviews of the Taj Mahal
47 First Time on the Funicular
48 One-Star Reviews of the Great Wall of China
52 Chess
53 My South
54 Bengal Tiger
OCEANIC
Self-Portrait as Scallop
When I Am Six
CHICAGO
My mother waters the tomato & pepper plants. I steal drinks from the penny-taste of the garden hose. It is my favorite drink. I am six & think to cross the street by myself from time to time, but never do. I am six, my sister is five, & we hide inside clothing racks at the store just to feel the black-sick fill our round bellies when we get lost, lost, lost from our mother. I am six & I am laughing with a mouthful of cashews. I think nuts is the funniest word I have ever heard. I am six & I break all my mother’s lipsticks & glue them together & put them back in her bathroom drawer. She’ll never notice. Sometimes I find sad envelopes, the ones with red and blue stripes, meaning these envelopes fly, meaning thin feathers, meaning bird with a little worm in the beak. Envelopes from her father, I think—she snatches them from my hand & says, No, no, where did you get these? Now put them back.
On Listening to Your Teacher Take Attendance
Breathe deep even if it means you wrinkle
your nose from the fake-lemon antiseptic
of the mopped floors and wiped-down
doorknobs. The freshly soaped necks
and armpits. Your teacher means well,
even if he butchers your name like
he has a bloody sausage casing stuck
between his teeth, handprints
on his white, sloppy apron. And when
everyone turns around to check out
your face, no need to flush red and warm.
Just picture all the eyes as if your classroom
is one big scallop with its dozens of icy blues
and you will remember that winter your family
took you to the China Sea and you sank
your face in it to gaze at baby clams and sea stars
the size of your outstretched hand. And when
all those necks start to crane, try not to forget
someone once lathered their bodies, once patted them
dry with a fluffy towel after a bath, set out their clothes
for the first day of school. Think of their pencil cases
from third grade, full of sharp pencils, a pink pearl eraser.
Think of their handheld pencil sharpener and its tiny blade.
The Origin of Feathers on My Windshield
The pelicans dip their brilliant sloppy bills
into their tired shoulders and there is a certain bridge
in Florida where you have to be careful not to hit them
as they fly across windshields. I lost the only picture
of me taken by a man who used to be the boy I loved
when
