Wildflowers, Weeds, and Waxwings

Lawns as an exercise in wealth and colonization. We grow what we cannot eat. We waste resources for the approval of passersby. Winter pauses the taming of wildness yet we have not learned to value what is real. I am trapped by what I have allowed and created. Whichever way the river bends next, I am all in.

Wildflowers, weeds, and waxwings.

My father wears an angry suit which is to say, he is a hurt man, meaning, his fear and guilt are the tailor of his khaki pants and button down shirts. My mother never stops moving because if she does, she will drown. She is an abuse survivor but if you call her a victim, she will gut you. They go to Mass and kneel ahead of 50 Hail Marys and a cross with a nailed up man, bleeding out for the sake of proof.

Saints, sacristies, and sins.

A fissure of light grows in the distance between your west and my east. The peaceable kingdom claims more land, but beloved, there is still the horizon! Well, to the North Star, there is no horizon, so how about them apples? The stars dance like fire, asking us to join by simply tilting our heads back. Let me see your neck. Let me see your lips part.

Green, blue, black.

Whenever people ask what color my eyes are, I never know how to answer.