Here’s how you inherit
the future.
You stand here searching
for lost parts
but only find people
rehearsing gravity.
They make syllables of promise
then rise into air.
They are pretty & distant
& will remain this way.
Will let you down
but never remember.
If speech heals silence,
it’s only in your head.
Only in this festival wind
can you say things like,
this city is empty
since you want it to feel that way.
People love vertically.
Rain falls in phases.
Subterranean, we transport
our bones between places.
We recalculate the distance
& it is horrible.
Siri says
our bodies are lightning rods.
Where we touch we leave scars.
There is nothing safe about this.
About felled pines
we haul home in feeble numbers
or hormonal salmon we fry from bays.
We handle sensation
by naming it instinct.
The true north of sound:
scream, siren, fiction.
We say she broke herself
about the sick girl
we believe is only sad
& might need us. I fathom
home is a hinge.
We relocate since we must
by swinging.
My mom once assured me she’d stand
between me & pain.
She didn’t know the radius
of here to there,
the x-axis of time
outside of time
& the privacy of clouds,
divided & forgotten.
Like girlhood, like schools of ladybugs
in this Zoloft January.
If I tell you one story, it is the redaction
of another story.
There is no destiny, only memory.
Chatbots erase
our voices to murk.
We wait for Instagram feeds
when losses repair to stories.
We would laugh, we knew it, about
swallowed furniture, retrofitted
reflections where artificial faces
& memes swayed.
The years knew better.
We are learning to love
cracks in the ceiling,
a lifted eyelid away.
We look into them now
that we’ve learned to drift & become
financial analysts of our shrinking.
We excel spreadsheet, we are free
now that we have lost
count of everything.

