day one

I find myself planting wasps in my palms again
watching the stingers stir under my skin

holding, holding
soon they will burrow out and find you

and I cannot decide how I feel about that

so that means this is Day One of

waking up fistfuls of hair and teethfuls of

why didn’t you say goodnight?

Day One of

these car heat hands on my bare neck

are they tender, are they gripping

whose fingers now are

holding, holding

Day One of

blank page-full, one week-empty

if we unwrite our last kiss will we

speak backwards, move nonsense mouths into

our best kiss instead

Day One of

seeing you all black and white in my lap again

clean you up, calm me down

five minutes is all it takes

Day One of

mirrors at my feet, glass-soled, blind
all that’s dripping from my mouth now is

don’t worry this isn’t the beginning of anything bad

Day One of
don’t worry things will turn out okay

this is still just the beginning

growth

take the salt, rub it on your palms

spread white circles at your door, under your window

pull lavender oil through your hair

say words over the rosemary

when you go to the creek, take the letters

do not burn them. float them.

cover your scars with brown moss

do not wash out the lavender

even under under the full moon, even at midnight

light white candles

always remember your own name

always eat when you are hungry

when they ask what you did with the letters

crush three tablespoons of mint in your hands

promise yourself you will not lock your jaw anymore

close the door, replace the salt

this is how you wake up the dawn

this is how you plant the seeds of your feet

this is how you come back

pearls

crystal bead teardrops gathered today

pull them from my eyelashes, my lips, my teeth

count them, kiss them

wear them pearl-strung, knocking on your door

Do you remember the letters you wrote last Thursday?

Did you mean to tie them so tightly around my neck?

I can’t seem to unwind the water now

and I’m choking

lungs growing seaweed fingers from the inside

knees bent backwards, folding sideways on your front porch

what maps did you trace on my feet while I slept

to bring me back here

I am holding these blue pearls out for you, trust me

pulled them from my eyelashes, my throat, my spine

I have filled a jar today already

Is this what you wanted me to show you?

Can we be finished now?

191.

the blush wine vowels drip from down

between my knees
the ones I can't cough clean anymore, the ones

that fissured since the cracks slid through my toddler ankles

slip blood droplets on my lips, I’ve tried

to lick this down and swallowed

every inch of you, throated

all of it

didn’t ask for

any of this

so much of my tongue in my stomach by now

so many bite marks in my cheek, you would think

I would have taught myself a secret language only I could hear

but no

I have stamped a silence into my mouth

punched and carved out echoes

bloody-fisted

nothing left now but teeth

on the floor

paper

peeling origami skin up, underneath

paper fingers, petals

I told myself I folded

placed razor snips under layered pages

red ribbons to find later

yellow-edged and creases under my eyes

I told myself for years

I folded

maybe I was wrong, maybe

I was crooking crane wings under elbows

maybe I was paper airplane ready

maybe I have only been in the wrong hands

milk

white, will you wake with

me smoothed into your mouth still

round cream reminding you what softness means

wait until I drip, then

are you sorry

will you drink me marrow

dry

am I rich with life, am I filling

who am I supposed to fill

will I be all the sweet my mother ever gave to me

is this all mine to keep, or
will you take from me what you took from your mother, too

190.

I stand mirror-bellied
shard-lipped

I am afraid you have my father’s hands

I am afraid of your fingernails
stand square-hipped, push

glass hips into my bones

break your hands into me

break wave fists into my lungs

tie knots in my hair, tell me it is braided

hide nettles inside, tell me they are flowers

blindfold me at dawn, keep me

sand-throated, dark-lidded

a red new moon

where do you want me, draw me

a lavender bath, draw me half-dressed

half my arm buried

dress dirt-caked, calling my mother back

saying “I’m sorry, I can’t make your birthday”

thanking you for the bath, the new dress

the only arm I have left

eclipse black now, even your hands, even your hands

against the dusk of my skin

I am afraid I will come away from you a painted sky:

bruised blue, purple, green

I am afraid you will call that love

I am afraid I will ask you to
I am afraid I have written this already