ARTICHOKE

Because I lived in my head anything could happen to me

Trees dropped their pita chips

Hearts grew their leaves

Ever since I was little, I knew myself to be at sea

Like a glove

Sleeping under a carseat

I was totally unreachable

Awash in invisible butter

Contained, intensely, by a clear plastic sleeve

My ears poked out

I was a friend of the library’s

I was peaceful and random

Until I took a spoon

And scooped at me

First Memory

A covered wagon 
A horse with real tears in its eyes 
The wrinkles of a bed sheet 
The tree knot of a forehead 
A folded napkin 
Blotting oil fromp ancakes 
The pink mohair of sadness 
Slowly, a dragonfly 
Crosses by the window 
Tasting vinegar or molasses 
Every object with its middle 
A single serving of turkey 
Just one lick of soup 
Sand being crushed 
Into more sand 
I don’t know 
Why or how yet 
But they turn the stuff 
Into glass

PERIWINKLE

The tulip has died but the stem keeps on living

Or at least, is still green
A deeper celery
Like my image of a submarine

Everything has its corresponding color
My teeth, French vanilla
My gums, strawberry ice cream

My hands, meanwhile, belong to the fuchsia family
And a bar of soap becoming nothing
Like the inside of a fridge

In real life, the celery just sits there in a cup of water––

My mom had sent me an article
About storing vegetables like this

I send my mom a thumbs up
I send my mom a kiss

And the trees send the wind

The fridge light turns on
Both here and in New Jersey

Her favorite color
Being periwinkle

My favorite color
Being this

GET BACK ON THE HORSE 

The feeling came toward me 
It was like trying to pull my head 
Through an already zipped sweatshirt 
Voila 
My own personal darkness 
And touching it 
Like a crouton 
At the bottom of the sea