‘water park’ 

 

how the needle slid into your hand 

 teeth 

the plastic shark from kindergarten 

when you fell asleep 

spelling bee 

 stickers on silicone 

 breathing in some artificial scent 

strawberry gas spilling from a tube 

 

construction sites and telephone towers 

 a chorus of get better soons 

paper scraps signed with glitter 

love scrawled in wobbly ink,  

 unfamiliar names 

 

water splashes from the car                                       

ghosts hold your hand 

your absence in every circle 

a hundred people stare 

waiting for your return. 

 

 

‘broken tiles’ 

 

you dream of smashing mirrors 

cascades of silver 

curls of red autumn leaf 

drifting down 

fracturing 

the freshly tiled floor. 

you dream of creation 

of wiping your hand across the mess 

stains on skin 

steam rising 

 evaporation and silence. 

you dream of smashing mirrors 

just remember 

you don’t need to hold 

every shard so tight in your fist— 

your world is everything you want it to be. 

 

 

‘hive’ 

 

you told me to close my eyes and think about it. a farm, not too far away, something gritty in the scrape of wooden floors and pictures hung on the walls. climbing up to the roof at night to look down upon nestles of grass shaped like the wings of bees. this is our work, you whispered to me in every planted orchid, every cereal bowl, every errant curl of hair. this is our work, you murmured as you pulled the gate closed and raised the green light. this is our work, you said, until i had almost no choice but to believe you. this is our work, you said, as i wrapped the ferns around your wrist and let the wilderness consume me, just as we had consumed it.