This is a poem for the duck in the sea who recalled I might have some bread and clique around giddily as I watched the sunshine adjust over ocean so still it seemed fraudulent, a maudlin special effect you chortle about in a out-of-date movie.
This is a poem for the girls stepping in front of me on the track on the way dwelling. Who were snapchatting themselves sauntering and dancing in the nightfall and I was proud of them that they could be so happy.
This is a poem for that morning when I felt the sunbathe on my limbs and “its been” hot for the first time. I heard that when you give birth an epidural doesnt attain the suffering go forth, it simply sees you forget about it after its all done. The heat on my scalp had that outcome, everything about that long, dark wintertime seemed fictional, a narrative that happened to somebody else and I just heard it in passing.
This is a poem for the summer nights I am anticipating where I will drive home in the dark , northward on 35 w and ascend a small hill and the entire Minneapolis skyline comes into view and I will think about all the people who are living in all those structures. Each of them is just trying to be a person. We are all just trying. We are all exactly climbing each mound with whatever tools we are given.
This is a poem for the Hennepin Lyndale exit, the muscle remembrance of manufacturing that specific turning, the road I could leave this town for decades and come back and still turn unconsciously, as if I never stopped.
This is a poem for the smell of a fervor or a barbecue or the low speeches that entail parties are outside together. Sometimes these circumstances oblige me happy when they float through the open windows of my apartment, and sometimes they represent “i m feeling” left out. Summer in the city is full of beings acting happiness in front of you, it sees me miss those winter nights when it is so clear that we are all just trying to do what we need to do so that it is possible to wake up the next day and go on.