Did you forget
When we would burn white sage
And pretend the smoke was spirits?
You breathed them in
And took their memories
And I watched you.
I miss the gap in your teeth
And the way you spoke
When did you lose the glitter on your clothes
And the tinsel in your braids?
I still find glimmering specks
Between the floorboards
And under my nails
I don’t see you—
Unless I burn herbs
And pray on your diary
Light candles
And let the wax sting my skin.
We used to dream of riding out West
In your father’s jalopy.
Our hair static, our eyes wild
Past the noles
And the sacred Mississippi
We did what we could
We found long sticks
And treaded through the thickets
We stacked stones and caught fireflies in our palms.
Some nomads:
Eager to follow the diaspora of holy barbarians.
You sang with the hyenas
And I cried with the owls
I studied you
As you walked ahead of me
And as you slept
Your jumbled word jazz,
A holy hymn.
You had thin wrists and a hard jaw.
I was rather humble—
A baby face and a big nose.
We both had pale legs,
They bruised easy.
But you ruined it—
You went mad one day
Behind the rusted barn,
And you smothered the calf.
A few more moments and it would have run
Amniotic fluid
Still coating the youngin’s rough hair
She wanted to run
You can understand that
Now the dream’s over,
Are you happy?
Her eyes were scared
And yours were bloodshot.
You caught the redeye
And I went home—
I never left again.
Are you older now?
Or did you go to Venus?
Are you still morbid
Collecting dead moths and eating roadkill?
How many ants did you step on today?
Pray to the snail whose shell you plundered
Now spread your fingers farther
They were once webbed.
Do you remember
You could breathe with the ocean back then?
