Forgive my lack of posting. I’ve wrapped up grad apps (the rejection letters should begin coming in) and been editing a rather long (collection of?) poem(s), all while of course working and just having moved to a new place. So. Been busy but far from unbearably so.
Given the edit edit editing I took a small break to toss this poem out–which is nothing really at all like the poem(s) I’m editing. I hope you enjoy it though and have all been having much love and peaches and hugs and flowers and oh such loveliness.
what the net leaves behind
Maybe it begins with a rustling—
you in your top hat and me
smaller, beside, your grand
father’s racquet in my hand. He
played a game so well, turning
to walk away, you’d cry. What of
the pieces of photo of him in the
cabinet, under last night’s toothbrush
and paste? Sometimes it’s developing
that’s backwards: and there’s a burning.
I do not want this bowl of cherries.
I did not ask for your glass eye. Some
day I’ll stuff these crayons down my
throat, lick the bowl, shit a rainbow.