It was a day unlike any other—the hour was green, my toes laughed,
and my skull broke
into a blueberry bouquet.
(The days before, our chalk hearts crumbled into an ocean of tears in
the closet.)
We begged the news to feast with us. It ate everything in sight, down
to the last cracker, ounce
of cider, and house nail.
Now, from a lean-to by a stream, we wave at news from a distance.
This morning: fuchsia rhododendrons, some tinged with brown, and
the sky.
