Inside the dead of winter
Curls a fiery soul
A little bear that sleeps defiant
Waiting out the cold.

Perhaps an existential crisis
Shook the universe’s mind,
And sent out blasted aftershocks
To certain human vines--

The house-thief strikes
When I lay the scissors down,
Vanishing them under whatever scarf
Is most forgettable.

When the Thwaites glacier thawed, the news prattled /
about how stock in plastic water bottles fell /

I forgot how to take off my shoes /
How do normal people /
Take off their shoes /

Marilka went on so many walks her arms disappeared /
regressing inside her clavicle like two large ropes /

The door opens like tree boughs reaching for /
the sun, and you’re sure /
you didn’t move, but the floor moves you inside /
like wind buoying a bird through its branches /

When will they regard the autonomy of a woman’s hard /
decision with the same religion of just looking up /
with the same faith and leaping to conclusions /
That they do to us?

In the autumn, we trek /
Into the Red Grove /
Where the little fox-fires grow /

The face in the window /
Much like a small moon /
Pitted and reflecting /
The light from my lamp /

They named me Diana /
they vilify me on their news reports /
they say that I’m insane, a category five /

Success looks like crying at night /
when you’ve overcome the ticking /
of the clock, ever listing what it wants /

How do I tell you I no longer lift my hands /
Or grind my knees down to the guilt /

There, a small twinge in my armpit/
I’m sure it’s nothing bad /
It’s happened for the last three days /
I try not to think of that /

There’s a swing that appears /
on overcast days—not when it rains /
no, and not when it sprinkles, but when the /
geese honk overhead in giant arrows in the sky /

In that time between interesting things /
We Rests flourish /
During the whirling wheel /

The house is clean so there’s nothing to stop me /
The dishes are fed and asleep /
The curtains are bare and looking out sweetly /
The nightstands are two whiskeys deep /

I have encountered Conquest /
A herald seraphim /
A harbinger of sacred fervor /
Wrapped all up in righteous sins /

What if all the stars worked a 9-5 with-
out healthcare or matching 401(k)s?
Would they shine so bright or
their long light arms reach Earth?