Poetry

I can’t explain it but that wasp venom felt like love The wasp fighting for its safetyUnleashing hasty My body gathering suppliesPain signals, blood, inflammation, heat, heart rate increased All of it reminding me of what a privilege it is to be A crossed path too crossed

I’ve got two fists One of them holds patience The other holds love Well actually they’re not fists at all They’re open hands that I hope you’ll hold I’ve been listening to the birds so much that when I sit in a room full of

Sage doesn’t like rain Or wet grass Or long grass Sage doesn’t like grass Sage knows when a sun shower is coming before the clouds do She knows all of the signs of a storm, just like a chaser, but instead quivers by the door She will not

❊ When I scritch your belly and sing the song of you, I smell the summer air at my Aunt Vickys Cabin I hear boats off in the distance I hear my cousins trickling feet scatter across the yard in search of worms No stone unturned I sense the panoramic view