Miss Peach the Novel (audio only)
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Mostly Mick Jagger
1
Thank god he stuck his tongue out.
When I was twelve I was in danger
of taking my body seriously.
I thought the ache in my nipple was priceless.
I thought I should stay very still
and compare it to a button,
a china saucer,
a flash in a car side-mirror,
so I could name the ache either big or little,
then keep it forever. He blew no one a kiss,
then turned into a maw.
After I saw him, when a wish moved in my pants.
I nurtured it. I stalked around my room
kicking my feet up just like him, making
a big deal of my lips.2001
America Talks to Me Like a Mother
Don’t worry. One kills in dreams
but wakes having not killed.
Having not killed is part of waking. Some mornings, though,
you lay there pinned under layers of light, fear,
and woolen blankets.
You know what’s right and what’s wrong,
what you don’t know is what happened
and if you were actually there.
That’s why dreams of digging a deep hole with a stolen shovel
are so confusing. That’s why you expect to jerk awake
when you stand in a pile of dry brush
holding a lit match in your hand.
2016
Star in the Throat, Fire in the Cupboard
When I was young, I hid under the porch with a star in my throat. When I got a little older, my mother opened the cupboard to let the fire out. I should’ve known the cliffs meant a coming blankness. We should’ve noticed the competition growing deadly between the masts and the trees. The problem wasn’t the lateness of our parties but what we used for wood to keep them lit. What is it people say—take my arm and walk with me along the shore for a minute? My mother, bless her, is a speck of color in the flush of a great cheek.
2014