Wild

I need out of this Podunk town.
Out of here, I yell as I trace 
hands along the barbed wire 

fence, watching the raccoon 
dart  into the neighbor’s trash. 
I walk to the edge of town, 

where the train shadows 
bend towards the Queen 
Anne's Lace. Today I’m rhythm

& chords are easy  in my fingers.  
I've been changing for awhile now, 
but today I'm packing my bags.

Cicada

 In August I shed with him, layers

of clothing.  I slipped into the pond,

and noticed the peach sky. Cicadas

only have beaks that suck for food,

but I kissed his lips when he told
me that he's a cicada.  I wanted him 

to be sincere, but he molted again

and again, green to brown to green.

I collected his shells and I lined my
windows, but I could not pin his wings.

Sing

1
When I was small & it rained,

 my brother & I shrieked

            while we raced paper boats

                                      in the stream
                                                               to the gutter.
                                                        
                                                      Our boats toppled,
                                                      but we ran after them 
                                                                                even so.

        When thunder came                         we weren't afraid.
        We answered clouds                         with screams.
        We harmonized                                 with roars.

2

I snatched leaves from the maple / to read the scarlet mite galls like braille, / as if nature had the answers I wanted.  / The spring peepers chanted. / A screen door cracked shut. // I once scribbled on a receipt, “I am paper / needing ink,” but what I meant was, / “My body needs a voice / or else I’ll die.” // Dolce.  I always smile. / Pianissimo.  I will be quiet. / Decrescendo.  Because it’s safer.

3

I waited for permission 
to be the thunder, the frog, 
the screen door.  When 
it didn't come, I determined 
to make my own melody.

Circles

Paper moths knot the street lamp. I graze / the tips of words I once knew but can’t / voice.  Audrey Lorde said silence won’t // protect me. I shuck bloody skin / to find the bold / animal that can speak. 

infidelity

Insect-peeled, cut

chatter, linen  

love.  I tried to decode you

on my kitchen table. 

There’s more.  The

magnolia tree outside

my window: the palest

pink against black
bark.  I don't deserve

this. I slept for hours
& woke to rain breaking
through my window.