maryland turns into my mother’s favorite place.

It’s Monday morning, April 2020, and I am trying to see if my dad has had a stroke from 800 miles away.

I tore through the Target, Hurricane Hooper hellbent / on proving that his skin was / crisp enough

In the photos taken before I wore it, the gown hangs from a grape arbor.

At the beginning of my future is me. At the end of my past, also me.

1. Start with a name / By the end of this pamphlet, you will be able to practice the art of waiting in three simple steps.

We’ve come to Des Moines for the funeral. Fitting / place: I’ve driven through every time I was leaving home to live / somewhere new.

The finest strand of dark green yarn / masquerades itself an accessory / wispy and frayed

This is how you keep your head down; this is how you thank God for this country: loudly so they hear / you;

The American dentist who shot Cecil the Lion once said, <em>If I had known this animal had a name … I obviously wouldn’t have killed it.</em>

in people. That whatever gods / I choose, I choose to love

I buy an old city bus, which will / whisk me away from this sinkhole I'm circling.

Last night I dreamt of / walking to Auger Beach / at dusk / only to find the tide / too high again:

"What are you shedding these days in order to become more yourself?"

"The media has fomented a moral panic — 'no one wants to work anymore' — when, more accurately, no one wants to work under these conditions anymore."