Everyone’s running low on Tiger Balm

Everyone’s gone to Beth’s to burn a couch. 
I stay behind, I make up hours. 
Late phone call to Jane. White and blue bathrobe 
from a hotel I’ve never been to. Grocery list 
as another document. Pink salt, toothpaste, prosecco.
When a stranger toasts you I feel lost in this world. 
Blotted out by highway noise. In one photo,
Jane’s holding a rabbit. I ask What did we eat back then
and none of us remember. I plant zinnias.
I ask about the trial. Red chair that came 
with the apartment. Fire escape above Harmony Lot. 
Blizzard when I cut my hand open
on the way back from the bar. We ate wild
blue green algae, Jane says. We put it in everything.

research support (theology)

a week after the dance
kate is failing theology
her report’s on fallen angels
their lives after heaven
their arguments with michael  
the way they shake the rain 
from their feathers
and have to tend to
their blistered feet
we talk about 
the pope’s shoes
the color of the smoke
the secrecy of the cardinals
why only men are allowed
in the circular room
she asks 
why make angels good
in the first place 
just to cast them out 
why would god
be in charge
of god’s enemies

My neighbor stops by

For the amount of roosters 
and farmland and people who say 
they know things about fields, this is not 
an agricultural town. It is actually 
a very busy community. Don’t get me started 
on the roads, she said. I can tell you what rural is.

She was a farmer’s daughter. Back then 
if you’re a farmer’s daughter, you marry 
a farmer’s son. That was a while ago though. 

I didn’t know what to say. 
I grew up in a town with a lot of cows 
and mafia. The people mostly 
kept clear of each other. She said, 
This market is so insane,
do you live alone?

I said, It’s just little old me here
like it was written on a box of cereal.

The cereal box version is 
I listen to Bruce Springsteen, 
finish a few projects,
drink one beer, take a walk with Lucy, 
and never need to ask for help.

How it ends up 
is I find a YouTube video 
of a man in his kitchen
taking apart a dishwasher.

I need a different part 
so I have to go to the store. 
I also buy birdseed and WD-40.

When I come home I fill the birdfeeders
and watch the chickadees arrive. 
I worry about the possum living in my attic.

Inside the dishwasher, I am through step three.

The guy on the video says,
If you’re working on a honey-do list,
your wife’s going to be so happy with you.

He films a bunch of things he found in the filter.
There’s broken pottery in mine.
I don’t recognize it.

I slice my finger on a piece of metal.
The man in the video is also bleeding.

Everything is doomed.
It’s been twelve years since he recorded this.

Note to Lucy 

someone in your life
must’ve had a truck
I guess I’m glad it wasn’t me
some relatives of mine
have kids and know everything
not having a kid
people tell me all the time
how hard it is 
and other people
mostly women
don’t need to tell me
but still insist
it is the best thing
that ever happened to them
and that it is good
the suffering
that comes with it
these days we’re
done with living
but still fracking 
places for our psyches
and grilling things
in the patchy dark 
and holding festivals
and lifting 
wet firewood
and smothering
invasive vines 
and transporting 
gigantic
birthday cakes 
for celebrations
in the hilltowns
I regret existing
but I don’t regret loving
most of the people
that I’ve loved
I don’t regret my time outdoors 
I don’t regret not leaving here
for a city
god bless swamps
and willow trees
god bless anyplace
it’s safe to cry
god bless people
who’ve forgiven me
god bless my oldest 
stupidest errors
that live eternally
in my eye socket 
and god bless
animals and
god bless anyone
who wants to survive
in spite of us
I love this place 
the things we get sick of
the parts of ourselves 
that should die
are reborn 
so beautifully here
and then die again
and then die again
and when we stop thinking about them
they die forever
and still it’s painful
to live with ourselves

Halie Theoharides is a poet and librarian living in South Deerfield, Massachusetts. She is the author of Final Rose, Phantom Jams, and Into the Leaf Gloom.