janie grows strawberries on her back porch
i grow poppies
i make new lives like paper towels,
wringing out these dishwater lies you left on the counter.
he puts his hands on my cheeks
turns this head back round
i see your snake eyes;
bad luck bad luck.
but i saw a photograph i never knew i took
self portraiture constellation:
my head in lion jaws.
so so safe, i know
these arms so strong now
keep your rooftop up.
i’m getting bright with a crown of fluorescents
we’ve got to know to keep on waking.