saut

*

A little place in the Wilderness- Memphis

they were asking me if which is first:

the sea, or the longing for it.

the hills, or the grasses on their surface.

there,with two of those who woke up earlier than they used to just to hear me giggle

J

He hides an attic in his heart,

at night, he takes out the railroad, frees a starfish from a bottle of gin,

rolls weed and memories with its smoke. he cherishes everything

as long as it is outside the window: a lonely tree carved with arrows, a tire swing,

a long road where you can see a little store with a blue roof, a broken tv antennae.

he had pot sessions with Cobain and

Karen. I taught him once how to let the raindrops dance on his palm,

like a boy he tongued the rain, told me his palms

are too calloused, reigned by tar.

G

He called me yelling “sis, i did it, i did it!!!”

I could see his mother’s curlers and pedicure  from his voice and could hear

his father’s whistle from the way he plays with his slippers

as he bid adieu. It rained that day in the city and he missed a rock gig

because of his undone laundry. he got lost letting the raindrops dance on his

palms. When the call was over, I ate mugs and drank plates thinking

how a 5′9″ saw long-legged tiny nymphs between his fingers.

K

She has never given up on letting raindrops tango on her palms.

She never will.

They taught her how to tuck pain in without having

to pretend that she has flawless skin and a flat stomach.

a strong zipper.

~

i can still feel the mud, still smell the clouds on my shoulders, still taste the sailboats,

still hear the strums and the vibrations.

.