Leaving this island,
where the Sauks are no more . . .
Photograph by Peter Ahn
It's true that I got my first period at the Freud museum
Southern Seed by Tierney Malone. Gouache on metal, 6'x3', 2012.
Sweltering heat. nearly empty car. red laces on blue Nikes lean against a pole.
Sorry to mention the chorus of cicadas / and the constellations of fireflies
Nebraska has a bakery for early souls.
Youth, greedy for beauty, / Squanders it carelessly.
You shark-circle me, I know,
But I am in my own ocean,
Lying in hushed dark blue and looking up
To the curve of the tail of my blue whale.
This morning the world tried its best to tuck me back in.
. . . there's no doubt about it,
it's pure naiad scorn.
We consume what we must, to make it up.
In this neighborhood, tact never stood a chance.