When the night is fully formed
but your pulse has the cadence of anticipation.
Loving and hating something simultaneously.
Cracking a pomegranate open
to find nothing but mist and hunger.
The pleasure of never having enough.
Homecoming to a place you’ve never been,
then remembering your daughter,
always afraid of new illnesses.
When you catch a spider in your fist,
take it out of your house and release it,
knowing your hand will feel dirty forever.
When you catch a spider in your fist
and hear the sound of laughter down the hall.
Your brain’s sadness trumped by some
strange bird calling for his lover.
When your family surrounds you,
how grateful to be embarrassed by them.
The way Matryoshka dolls replace
psychology when the lights go out,
and how you can never find the smallest doll.
Sleeping behind a wall with no ears.
The secret lust for rainfall.
When you’re left without a seam,
tiny, with no more empty spaces.
Your heavy club foot scatters your tracks.
The varied populations of the cusps.
Being born a dry orphan but finding
a tongue to call your own.
Speaking as if poorly of the dead.