Emily as the Predictable Question

Yes, she drew me in

as simply as a breath

& when she breathed

me out I was part

of the derivation 

of Emily, the world

that exists for everyone

else. I miss the before,

when her lungs

were making this me,

but it’s good to be

with you all.

How else could I mourn?

How else could I fight

my way back to her?

Emily as Well-Made Cake

I don’t need to be so modern

as to use plates or utensils or occasion,

I just need her in my mouth.

Emily as Obvious Beauty

Being simple, 

seeing good as a gift,

that re-made me.

Emily as Fifty-Seven Years Later

The frailties will be funny, too.

Death will be hysterical. Jokes we

barely remember, that’s oxygen.

All All #52

Now, now, now is when we sit on top

of America’s chest to see what 

good breath is left. No songs. No strutting

across the mythology of fields

with actual gods we blanketed

to smother. Just the weight of people

& a promise to bring back honey,

to bring back the drowning in honey

to the bee killers. Now. Now. Now. Now.