When I can’t sleep, it helps me to know
that two hours away, in a museum,
is Maybelle Carter’s guitar.

I often wonder where I was in the commuter dance when my dad died.

Chloe started her senior year of high school seven months pregnant, but it was difficult to tell.

She was the woman thrown into the volcano
who survives.

In the beginning, all is without form. Light slowly rises, creating heaven above a lingering void.

This morning, a spotted orange butterfly touches down on my shoulder

We look at what could be your dog drowning.

A man was crawling on Hang Khay street today.

When we met, it was in a forest: magical, enchanted, smooth-barked trees hanging low like drooping lowercase letters.

I’m a ripe watermelon take two

Like leaves pressed into
pages by a forgetful child
these meetings —
they mark nothing

She found him in the red tide, drowning. Days before, yellow loaders cruised down St. Pete Beach and filled carriages with poisoned fish.

The Ollie Impossible. The Fukushima Azuma Baseball Stadium.

inside the word there is here
where everything that is red is on fire, even the dirt

Sofia and my uncle arrived one summer in the ‘80s reeking like pickles and moved into our basement on Blue Hill Ave.

It was January when Goodrich brought us the new girl, Lily, and told us right off we’d better be nice.

after so many bodies on my body

Rubber bands tangled like sea creatures in heat.