To Help with Climate Change, We Buy Rechargeable Sex Toys
The Sun Doesn’t Know It’s a Star
At the End, We Mistook Savor for Savior
Getting an IUD on the Day of 45’s Inauguration
How to Live in a State of Fire
We Could Go On Indefinitely Being Swept Off Our Feet
Thank You for Saving Me, Someday I’ll Save You Too
HUNGER
If we never have enough love, we have more than most.
We have lost dogs in the neighborhood and wild coyotes,
and sometimes we can’t tell them apart. Sometimes
we don’t want to. Once I brought home a coyote and told
my lover that we had a new pet. Until it ate our chickens.
Until it ate our chickens, our ducks, and our cat. Sometimes
we make mistakes and call them coincidences. We hold open
the door then wonder how the stranger ended up in our home.
There is a woman on our block who thinks she is feeding bunnies,
but they are large rats without tails. Remember the farmer’s wife?
Remember the carving knife? We are all trying to change
what we fear into something beautiful. But even rats need to eat.
Even rats and coyotes, and the bones on the trail could be the bones
on our plates. I ordered Cornish hen. I ordered duck. Sometimes
love hurts. Sometimes the lost dog doesn’t need to be found.
STRING THEORY RELATIONSHIPS
The essential idea is this—the man you love is connected to you
no matter what, but he’s also connected to the woman
down the street with the small dog that barks at the lilacs,
and she’s connected to the cashier at the market who’s a bit rough
with your grapes, but he thinks you’re ten years younger than you are
and he gives you free saltwater taffy while calling you
darling—but he also calls her darling, and her dog
darling, and the man you love along with the grapes.
The essential idea is this—all objects are composed of vibrating anxieties
—everyone wants a window or aisle seat and no one wants to sit
in the middle. Call it deniability. Call it the flashlight you keep
by the door never works in emergencies. We are all connected
by the blast that brought us here, the big bang,
the slam dunk, the heavy petting. We can’t always be pretty.
We
