Memories, a river of bad soup,
a cat-trap by the water.
I dream the moon soft,
your hand on the screen door.
We loved that creek,
dipped for stone apples,
tossed them on the trail,
lay in the milk ribbons of our bones.
Old love, long time gone:
your eyes, blue berries,
your sweet head,
that monster of your beauty.
The kids gone, too,
you to your doctor husband.
I sleep twitching, walk
the whitewater of night.
Remember our kitchen gods?
They smell like onions now,
the stinking rose,
mute carnival pictures.
Lately I am a bear.
Can’t shoulder shit.
Too light for hibernation,
I stare down a bush, blind.
Too bleak and beautiful 