this Christmas

this Christmas i realized
i don’t have a family
i have familiar strangers
i can drink beers with
forget myself with
but not family

ever since I remembered
my mother tried to drown me
i lost my family

ever since I recognized 
how my aunt would throw herself
over my shoulders
breathing heavy, her hand
climbing up my thigh

her breath like car exhaust
my mother would scream at me
when I defended myself
when I said no, I don’t want to be groped
by your sister anymore, this Christmas

             I stayed home
             I got high
             I played Super Mario Bros
             I ate oatmeal and napped

the goose in the pond                                                                                                                                                 

the goose looks at itself in the mirror
and is terrified of its feathers
the goose feels immense loneliness
and existential disorientation
when it sees its reflection
in the pond

the goose’s tiny heartbeat
makes tiny ripples
in the water
that reach out
and touch others
and disturb the harmony
of the pond

these disturbances upset the goose
to no end, because it cannot control them

the surface of the lake
looks different today
than it did yesterday

the surface of the lake
will look different
tomorrow

goose poem                                                                                                    

the goose does not like to go very fast
she prefers to take her time,
to go with the flow
along the river

if the goose is asked to work too fast
or do too many things at once
like vacuum the dried rice off the living room rug
and scrub the pasta stains from the dishes
or fish cigarettes out of the goose’s girlfriend’s moldy coffee cups
the goose will feel overwhelmed

and the river she is riding along will stagnate
the water will turn murky and heavy with sludge

so the goose pecks at tasty phrases,
stirring stories into the always-changing
surface upon which she sits

another goose poem?                                                                                                                                                             

the goose experiences a void
when looking in the pond
or reading their name
permanently etched in bark

the goose is terrified
craning their gooseneck
in the shape of half a heart
to peer inside themselves
and witness a staggering
dam where decisions should flow

Moosechicken                                                                                   

Moosechicken chirps when he is hungry
Goose and Monkey scoop a handful
of moosechicken food and pour it
into his little bowl

Moosechicken chirps his gratitude
and eats his moosechicken food
with slow, intentional bites

Goose listens to him eating
and feels warmth and love
swelling in his belly. Goose
looks at Moosechicken’s awkward posture,
the way he spreads his mass like heavy sunlight
across the floor.

“He has a doopa!” says Goose and points to Moosechicken’s ass.

“He does have a doopa,” Monkey agrees.

Moosechicken, Moosechicken,
Moose, Moose, Moose!

and that’s a Babymeese, Goose
points to the tuxedo moosechicken
with a tiny face, smaller
than Goose’s little writer hands.

Meese is the diminutive Moose, explains Goose
to his partner Monkey.

“Indeed.”