Updated: Sep 17, 2023
/ Poetry /
You hear yourself echo inside her. Knock, knock. It’s me, baby Dionysus.
Look at that face, it’s yours.
An early understanding of beauty: driving past harvested cornfields,
the rows looked like the spinning pleats of a skirt.
An early understanding of home: the salt pig on clean blonde wood.
A 1994 World Cup soccer ball kept on display.
An early understanding: I fell off a seesaw the height of a sunflower.
Was sent home, groundless, down a first century road.
An early understanding of space: I used to make my body fill every square
on the bedspread’s grid.
An early understanding of space: glow in the dark stars
during the day, absorbing light for later.
An early understanding: It’s ok to scratch the car, so what if it’s a Porsche.
Ice-skating Ken & Barbie need a lake on which to axel.
We heard their plastic blades’ scritttch scraaatch.
Outside middle c, the music hall rhythm.
We’re running out of melodies.