2376 Ganesha Avenue
by Haley J Harris
when we slept
on the carpet
and woke up
infatuated
with our hair
how it braided
together overnight
there were years
I knew her
spine better
than my own
closet of clothes
not fitting right
when my father
was generous
and violent
the faucet dripped
I was born
with water in my lungs
it’s embarrassing
this flirtation I have
with dwindling
crooked front teeth
orange afternoon static
when a forest fire spread
across Echo Mountain
I looked up
from the henhouse
and recognized
my own rubble