I get lost in the soft tips of the cedar tree
hanging over the fence
My parents melt into deckchairs
like American cheese
essays | fiction | poetry | photography | art
I get lost in the soft tips of the cedar tree
hanging over the fence
My parents melt into deckchairs
like American cheese
I find a seat,
hold a headache in my hands, cradle it like a rock
between fingers, think about how this birthday
will be soup and crackers and cancelled plans.
I remember the shape of the word rainbow
on her puckered mouth, how we sounded
it out from my bedroom window.
How did a barrel-chested man learn
this magic? Softened like golden butter
in a dizzy aftermath, he did too many wars perhaps.
Rain upon me your turbulent tales of locker-side loves,
the gossip of girls whose braces still encase their molars
Just as Hemlock
digs its graves in the
carrot family plot
because there’s no way he would ever find it,
being interested only in dinner/work/breakfast
/work/sex on demand/sleep/work.
the problem with mici is
they’re all so good
that they don’t even ask you
what you’re ordering
So next time you feel so anxious that you can hardly unlock the door,
remember that the world holds your feet
First day of the World Series,
autumn hanging on, each tree
seeing who can keep from
being a skeleton the longest
I see you standing there – starch white lungi draped
7AM freshly shaved – wooden spoon in hand
Commanding your caramelising populace.
one bright red strawberry on the strawberry plant
mist still low, tangled in the branches of olive trees
the way the pomegranates hang low
with the burden of their own weight