(three poems for spring)

Brood X

“Brood X…is found in three separate areas centering around Pennsylvania and northern Virginia, Indiana, and eastern Tennessee. The largest emergence of Brood X appears as adults only once every 17 years.” —National Park Service

cicadas, fanned seeds
descending and crushed
a child’s loose tooth,
shoelace, knowing

spinning worlds with
empty pop bottles
the alley, gun

the condoms blown big
the dogs grow bigger
with every tell

cicada shells crunch
rolly pollies crunch
big bad crunch

we know what to tell
and what to swallow
how to scream
in a star-drenched night

how to fall light like
how to lay like a shadow
how to make a universe
of the cobwebbed corner

how to stay

cicadas, a heated breeze
new brood and bodies

bike gears still broke
daddy long legs ponder
through the stumps 
and dew-like light

we re-tell the stories
the game room, the cousin,
the turtle, the truth

growing bigger
you practice

I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I

was


here

Home as a Wooded Hour



last weekend we woke up whole

I forgot you. laying the husks of our brothers on a couch. made a casket while the neighbor’s band played itself to sleep in the garage. of course we were tight and cold on a twin bed. I dreamed up. last weekend from a memory. of course you don’t remember. on sunday you slept. on monday you slept. on tuesday you woke. on wednesday I lost track of you. on saturday we did not wear bras and walked from one side. of town to another with polar pops. in our hands. suicides. you said how have you been. I said I woke last night. from a dream about everyone I love here. and not here. you said do you want to go. up to the rich part of town. there we were. running through the cul-de-sacs stuffing impatience. and lavender into big red stained styrofoam. and we reached the part of town. where you can see. every living. soul we knew. up there we saw so far. our world seemed gentle. so someone had to come. and take away our bouquets. they said we couldn’t hold and see. we had to choose one.