buried under everything else
my backpack
is on spring break too

showering off salt water
I discover sand
in my belly button

the only one left . . .
she feeds
the lonely goldfish

revisiting the old pages
I discover
Snape’s secret

next to my bike
behind the old swing set
my childhood

trying to hide my tears
I crouch over
my luggage

I hate to come
I hate to go—
farmtown

tiny cup of Sprite
and my tray table down
…I write

cuddling as we watch
Memoirs of a Geisha
I blanket each mammoth foot

before memory began
you were there
finding music in me

pajama’d
one week straight—
spring break

over the crowd
the stripper's eyes
look dead
into the distance

early morning Tannhäuser
wafts me back to sleep
before afternoon Rigoletto

new sandals
only wishing
I could use them in the sand

nineteen    awkward.
must.    order.    food.
Ah, Hooters

laying on the couch
watching the shows
I saw yesterday

from the stump
of my favorite maple
a sprout

sticky little fingers
gives her the beautiful books
she gives back to them

whispers in the dark
and little brother’s laugh—
we haven’t aged
at all

picking at the crumb
stuck in the crack
of my novel

threat level orange
snowfight in
the cornfield

places and people
all blur to green
by night's end

empty stands
still chanting
my name

agonizing cries
cradling her son
the music of war

I try to smile
as she buys tickets,
to yet another chick flick

nachos and cheese
hardening next to
tequilla

tattoo!
tattoo?
tattoo

waking up,
I discover
the week has passed

a light breeze sails by
children bury their toes
in the sand

root beer float
neapolitan brownie
gigantic hamburger
and friends

tree vision
boy's feet dangle just over
the sunset

spring cleaning
paused—brushing the hair
of my favorite doll

midnight excursion
relating to the janitor
as she shops for eye liner

the enemy's sub
now a target . . .
for family fun

hands held tightly
our life
played out before us

Traveling Sister
seagulls call
will she come home?

talking
miles between us
talking

the shoe salesman
runs to the back for
the twelfth time

sporting good store
the trophy behind the counter—
now that’s a nice rack

peeking between the cracks
waiting to be discovered
mascara in hand

she wants to let go
unaware she brings the sun
each day to tea

soaking footprints
tiptoe
across the empty house

cell phone jumps
at 5 AM
will you come get me?

hidden behind the towels
holding my breath
first impression

blowing goodbye kisses
from the driver’s seat
“Love you, Mom.”

a Bahamas t-shirt—
spring break souvenir
from Mom’s closet

roaring waves
pull the shells
from our hands

thousands of miles above
       names and faces
don’t exist

springtime
at the nursing home:
sour feces odor

buried in the closet
an old Barbie
with both shoes on

grandma slips me a twenty
under the table
for gas

waking up early
for my 1:00 pm soap opera—
a sacrifice

Sunday morning
my ex’s mother
hugs me

a mother’s tears
ends war
for the last time

the dog’s tongue
on my palm
a missed sensation

sun-warmed grass
          afternoon nap

watching tv
and
my unpacked book bag

farms and cows for miles
the town
I hate to miss

clear night—
clouds from
the hot tub

break from school
coming home
to my guest bedroom

the couch in the den
still big enough
to hold the family

brothers wave
at my taillights—
tears blur their hands

bounding over road and fence
and coming up short
Bambi backflips

watching movies
from mom’s lap—
I still fit

morningbreathatsickening

stuck at home
blogging
about my arm hair

humid high school computer lab
my mom—
Erin Brokovich

explain to me why
brick walls surround
that look of disgust

church bulletin
I still draw
in the margins

who needs flowers . . .
her sweetheart
buys her books

surrounded by dancers
I struggle to take
my first steps

we eat chilli burritos
as the Frenchwoman tells us
how fat we are

for the first time ever
a whole bathroom
all to myself

      one hand
on the wheel
      one hand
            in his

coughing blood in the lazy boy
on each crescendo
promises of chickadees on the sill

waving to mom
from the road to reality
as spring break ends

driving home
the horse statue
anatomically correct

puppy waits
just outside
the empty bedroom

video store clerk—
my account number
memorized

the dog rests her chin on my lap
and I rest my chin
on man-boob

a head on my lap,
eyes meeting mine—
a collie named Laddie

the first snow day
smack in the middle
of spring break

before the sunrise
remembering my neighbors
as the dog sniffs each fence

the French becomes clearer
with every breath
through the living room

we discuss robot dragons
as the cards are dealt
and the pizza vanishes

my jaw muscles tremble
as I assure him
I’ll be okay

spilling out of my beach tote
sunscreen, towel, sunglasses
and more sand

tired of wanting
what I can’t have
I make plans for tonight

jingle
that's all I have
no bills until payday

east village adventures
Kerouac shirts and used books and
Hooters?