2376 Ganesha Avenue

by Haley J Harris


when we slept

on the carpet

and woke up


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


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