Matins

 

 

 

The moon hangs on

a preposition

positioned in my window

 

next to red fruit, near the blue tree

between the pots and cups

I think about rules

 

regarding late nights

the law has not been tested

and the moon might hang

 

all day

above these sheets

the purity of our language

 

 

 

Lauds

 

 

 

The common sparrow on my porch sings

for a previously unknown loophole

in the system

 

he has not yet been

granted free agency       I never like looking out my window

 

into the messy branches

the bright, bespectacled

agents of daylight

 

urgent, emerald, envy

what people look like                     driving by at this messy hour

 

they look a mess; they slept

in their shoes, even now

they make urgent offerings

 

petrol, satellite radio: ALL CAPS

that they might once more get home     everything tastes like bubble gum.

 

 

 

Prime

 

 

 

For Yan Rui

 

 

 

 

 

Prayers could  turn

snow into candy

this hour, think on your hunger

 

I was a small town girl

Dairy Queen and football

at night no one traveled

 

a thousand miles to see me

where

I wanted to go

 

she improvised

even in prison

songs

 

 

 

 

 

Terce

 

 

This is a little hour

for checking gauges

we lost a war

 

here are horses

the children bring

sugar, in the rain

 

 

Sext

 

It is not time for the exposition

besides there are still almonds in your hand

your preschooler’s snack

 

that he did not want to be seen eating

beside you this non-essential detail

spirals like DNA

 

from your mother: two more songs and we’ll go.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

None

 

 

 

In my head, a votive

for every grievance

carries

 

like the chants of marchers

organizing now

my catchphrase heart

 

 

 

 

Vespers

 

 

We dose our teeth with fluoride, taking care

not to swallow. Sherman might have said love is cruel.

You cannot refine it. Get some sleep.

Call me in the morning. Preparedness,

more than the watchman waits for day, habitually

the history of any gold rush.

 

 

Compline

 

 

 

 

 

I like how you keep the shadows

 

as shadows

 

 

the moon hangs on

 

a preposition

 

positioned in my window

Teardrop, first published REM Magazine vol. 1, November 2010.

via Teardrop, first published REM Magazine vol. 1, November 2010.

It is not time for the exposition

besides there are still almonds in your hand

your preschooler’s snack

 

 

that he did not want to be seen eating

beside you this non-essential detail

spirals like DNA

 

 

from your mother: two more songs and we’ll go.

 

 

Terce

 

 

This is a little hour

for checking gauges

we lost a war

 

here are horses

the children bring

sugar, in the rain

 

The view on the back porch of Harwelden, a former mansion-turned-events-center: