Don’t bring me near the cat
because you think you can fly away.
I’m nothing but a doll to you,
but I have human skin and eyes,

No Poem Is the Only Poem. No Story Is the Only Story. No Kings.
Don’t bring me near the cat
because you think you can fly away.
I’m nothing but a doll to you,
but I have human skin and eyes,
One hour to pack all that I own in five suitcases.
Their leather peels like sun-burned skin to the touch. I am
away from home and yet my clothes, my shoes,
my books, the items I carry for luck, the pictures
of people I love are all at my side...
I cry out mayday in my mind
desperate to avoid the
inevitable reduction of your self
to just a name and a pained smile.
What a simple and acute request to
be able to speak to you again,
and frolic in your apartment
like honest athletes boiling and cascading
like bellowing smoke.
Mother’s second husband whose fingernails find purchase in her neck draining the stars from her veins.
My son pauses the game to say, “One time the wind was blowing so hard
you could even see it. It was gray, and it pushed against you when you walked.”