| Nope. Never thought I’d be writing this when I was cleaning duckshit out of a baby pool with a hose in fifteen degree seven a.m. conditions. In case you are wondering, that’s cold enough to make the greenish-white dribble freeze to the fluorescent plastic. I had a spatula reserved for mornings like that. Or maybe you are more interested in the duck than in the shit. Flippy was her name and she was nothing more than a duck, in fact, she was less: she was a runt. But when I wasn’t cleaning up after her I think I loved her. She couldn’t quack, only imitate broken squeezie toys. And she couldn’t fetch, only half waddle with a bum wing and the cutest | pair of polished eyes ever bought at the glass bead store. She was scared of water and ran around confused and pooping whenever we filled her green pool up with the hose. Yea, Flippy was special. She might not have known she was a duck but she knew me, loved me and not just because I was the first one to see her and her watery deposits every morning. When that raccoon or fox or beast came to get her and the other duck we raised, she said “this one’s on me, this is my family.” Pretty brave for a stunted little duck. Hey Flip, I know there's lots of toast and crispex up there, but in case you've paused to wonder, you were my family too. |
| My dad’s keychain was a fish out of water, resin scales and glass eyes and chipped paint from years of ins and outs of denim pockets, driving to soccer games, hardware stores, golf courses, but never fishing. That, he never taught me, but not for lack of knowing. He had his fishing stories. His voice flowed through the lighter parts, rippling when it spoke of loss; Grandpa passed, maybe, ten years ago now. He said I could have his tackle box but that’s not really what I want; I need | him to know he taught me everything one can learn from blackberry hued morning water and the delicacy of weighted lines without ever going fishing. I don’t know what the whirl of currents means or where to land the sinker when the water is cloudy, but I do know that this life is about respect, patience. I know that the pond isn’t half empty but half full and that no matter how hard the fight or big the fish, sometimes, it’s right to just let him go. |
| Infinity equals two graduates and one hundred seventy five grams. Their imposter marching band mans our field, their parents are permanent tenants that rent our stands. I remember thinking high schoolers get younger every summer. Strange, their present is our past two weeks former, but some sonorous sights are familiar foreigners, echoed brass booms of hollow air made full. I remember knowing their band was mint, but we were golden and we were infinite in that dimly lit bowl. I remember feeling their gaze on our smooth lazy throws, their elderly envy of our | youth. The frisbee flew from the hand of a graduate, a highlit dove scattering moths and bats, impossible streaking satellite or startrail, shooting, sprinting, shining, brightening the sky and blinding the stars. I remember head down, fleet, burn, my feet churn chase the disc but he calls “short, short” - turn, about face to see it fall back down to mortal curve of earth. Surely, it was too long, and had already belted the world. I remember growing to face the impossibility of our mortality under the eyes of our replacements. |
Fish bowl –
..........everything evapor
................................ates.
......(they never could keep it alive)
Three socks –
...lost........without
.........................mates.
......(she thinks she’s only missing two)
Ink hearts –
........scrawled on un
......................washed skin.
......(he doesn’t need her reminders now)
Sheet stains –
...........wrappers........in a
...................waste.............bin.
......(they did that more than laundry)
Whiteboard –
...................felt....tip...love
.................notes un............erased.
......(she might not mean that anymore)
Hair ties –
.........now lost,.....not mis
....................................placed.
......(he liked it when her hair was
................................................ down)
Dust –
....and dead
.........skin.....how
...............many are....pieces.....of us and how
............many.... did she...caress......and how
....................many..........................did I kiss?
Two things in this photograph (space and matter) distance
between bodies and a heart that feels emptiness
in mouths and tongue that seals shadows
from windows and eye that sees gaps
between fingers and flesh that fills
matter turns to space in black
holes but space disappears
whenever we touch this
matters and I can’t
get my mind
over your
matter
one
.
