They add colloidal gold
to glass, sometimes,
to make that ruby color. They heat it,
render it liquid and viscous, and
when it is just right,
the master glassblower blows into it,
in the Orlando Morgue that summer,
but he was the only one who ever turned
to face me as I lifted his arm for a side view,
trying to locate where the bullet had lodged.
His eyes shut, mouth slack, the dime-sized
hole in his
The eradication of non-native Fallopia japonica,
for all intents and purposes, must be considered a
practical impossibility. The aggressive nature of the
plant, combined with the similarly harmful side effects
of the removal options, renders it one of the most
devastating blights facing modern homeowners
Apparition of ice and stone:
How it swells above the highway,
over small cars and upturned eyes.
It sits on high. Pristine
and remote from me,
exalts me and cuts me
down to size.
Everything’s gone silent
as though a group of doctors has entered
the children’s ward.
Drone of water vehicles stowed,
a couple strolls the long edge of conversation.
Waves, like fear, have subsided—
only their small breaths remain.
you ran a knife across
your wrists, you called
to say you had finally
tried coffee.
He speaks of Kali maa, goddess of time
while chemo and radiation pin him to the clock.
As if confessing to a thievery of time,
when they neared one hundred years,
my parents said they never expected to live so long.
Their time unfolded like a painted
Pulling back the layers to reveal
the flow of blood in bone has left a seam
Pristine enough and perfect as to steal
the breath away, the fossil of a stream
Stepping off the bus, the first faces
I see are the same every February.
Hard construction hats, yellow vests
flashing, grit etched upon their faces.
Daylight Savings ensures that these
are the last sights of light before
entering sterile linoleum floors.
“Who am I, do you know me,” she cries,
this day when earth has turned to rot and mud.
she can not see but for the blaze of anger,
she can not hear the softer voices calling.
We’re together in the kitchen when you say
you talked to your new doctor,
the one who ordered up an EKG
because he said he’d heard a skip, a stutter.
He lies in the hospital bed,
the subject of barrier nursing,
looks at his fingers, and says:
Fingers! Figures! There’s a lot of figures about!
He slowly puts his fingers into prayer position,
his hands tortuously enacting transfingeration.
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