y November you already thought of returning,
rubbing Vaseline into your palms and the crevices
of your cracked heels. No napalm rained down in a foreign land,
no birth dates streamed across the screen to push our brothers into war.
The construction guys are wearing neon hoodies and eating grilled cheese sandwiches, Sprinkled across the lawn like lobster buoys — “Confetti thrown from heaven,” you’d call them When I was on the boat and couldn’t sleep. If I went back … Read More
If the Atlantic Ocean has seen my breasts, held them for an evening in the dark, full night, did he tell anyone? If sky observed, unfurled her firmaments? If the arc of my neck meant anything [to him], cradled in … Read More
