EVERYDAY WITCHCRAFT

What I was told:

face of a fox
and do you
curl your hair
wait, no
maybe it's straightened

open me another beer, okay?
I'll spend the whole night folding origami animals.
I'll build you a zoo.

NOT YOU, NOT ME

My tongue heavy,
I am choked
Grasping for salt water
bodies sweet.

the distance grows
thick
like black milk honey,

An omission.
chapped lips, and vertebrae in
all the wrong spots

something clearly lacks.

packed bags

i watch, out of the corner of my eye
a small ghost push through my mouth
out into the air
next to the two kittens fighting

on that dumb blue chair.
i
side eyeing
can't stop shit from de-composting
but, Miss Manywounds,
it could be my given name too.

For My Smallest Friend

A little dark dog howls
as six cars blasting Cumbia drive by,
and the back of my knees are already
sticky.

Even though it is only 7am.

In the kitchen they grab wrists and
check pulses. She should have two
One for the past 30 years and one for
the next 70. Or so.

I keep waking up with some hazy thoughts
about missing
your birth
and feeling like I have never done anything right in my entire life.
I hear them in the grey hall lights. Saying
"She'll be okay...
spread her wings"

If I can give you one piece of advice, it is that these wings cause
blistered growing pains.
But I will be here,
for you to turn to. I will never tut-tut
in dusty tones
late at night
for people to be lying awake

straining to hear their names in the dark.

MilkBlood

It's the simple things
that will save me. Like eating toast with cheddar
and banana in memory of my mother.
And dreaming about babies' heads
soft hair like peach. Longer than your
eyelashes
and sweeter than those cracked teeth on
the moon,
all chipped and broken like

all the other parts.

my mind
is an eggshell frame. Filled with
confetti and
smears of thick black ink
with the slightest move
it'll crack,
HOW EMBARRASSING!
leaving me tar and feathered
                  in a profound way.

morning vs. night

I.
M.
Y.
T.
M.
I.
T.
M.
W.
I.
W.
U.
A.
F.
T.
I.
A.
A.
A.
.....

THOUGHTS IN WINTER, ABOUT OTHER SEASONS

ever since the grass turned brown,

each day has gotten more 

and more cold.  I walk with you

boots scuffing on the pavement and the swish of

your heavy parka. Thick glass eyes

stare back at me

and I can see the start of an infection,

a thin bloody line running straight from the tear duct.

Nobody is sweet anymore.

No body is sweet anymore.

There was only one person who would wake up in the middle of the night and kiss my back when they thought I was sleeping

and it's not you 

sticky treacle running from your lips.