Sack as a Unit of Measurement and Four Other Poems

Midas Itch

Add your own voice to the chorus The heckling harmony Shrieking oxygen-deprived squall Pockets full of liquid smoke Drenched denim from crotch to knee A little capsaicin in the air, on your fingertips Brings the burn with each careless touch The Midas itch to join in, to be drowned out...

How Far We Went Down This Road

Soon after our wedding, Raj’s employer offered him a transfer to Seattle, providing us an escape from family tensions even though I had to resign from my IT job. Driving us to the airport, you were your usual jokey self, but when I caught sight of your eyes reflected in the rearview mirror, the sadness in them punched a hole in my gut. At the airport, my heart trembled at the way the tearful hug between you and Raj stretched on. “I’m going to miss you, too,” I whispered.

Unheard Voices

“Please, stop,” she begged Mr. Turner. “You must realize what a story like this could do to me. It’s not like the other rumors you spread about me, like how I enjoy taunting our servants, or that I put my sewing needles in your shoes. Or worst of all,” she closed her eyes once more, “that I snuck worms into the pies I brought to the orphanage. I can’t show my face there ever again, and you know how much I loved serving there.”

Disappearance

I come down to breakfast at 6 a.m. You stand in your blue terry cloth robe, cinched at the waist holding a cup of green tea in hands that are freckled, slender fingers around the cup. You hair falls on your shoulders, curling perfectly at the ends like those commercials for Clairol shampoo.