Ice cream at bedtime,
Aunt Betty's the best!
She knows in the summer
it's hard to find rest
when faced with hot sheets,
hot pillows, hot bed,
no place cool enough
to lay a hot
...
[+]
Originally published in The Germ, 2014
He lost his second wife in Buffalo.
She hid behind his books and slipped away
on their due date. Libraries are safe—dust
holds warmth. It smells like powdered hands. She curled
under some shelves and stayed. He had to go—
anywhere. Two yellow lines knew his name.
He loved spilled gas, new tar. Some arctic gust
Chased him through a door. He followed a world.
She lives on paper now. Her dreams are sad
but pretty. His eyes only squint at signs.
He never wonders. She thinks that's too bad
but flips her page. For now, distance excites
him like flame. She knows that her pictures will fade
quick as brittle paper, She swallows time.