SUMMERFUGUE

I can’t recall memories anymore
only what my body knows now
The scent of linden trees in June
The shimmering heat in July
The midnight breeze in August

When light and time touch
the hours turn into a haunting
And when I look at the blinding sun
I have been here before


INTERSECTION

There used to be a butcher shop here,
then it was a pet shop, a short-lived dive bar,
a kiosk, a salon,
a video rental store is how I remember it most.
I don’t remember a produce market here,
but I believe you when you say you used to buy
fresh peaches or nectarines
on your way to your house, from my house,
that’s still there, you just have to look
where you don’t want to anymore.


INDWELLING

In my baby pictures I am eating, no, devouring a whole thing of pork with my hands
I haven’t eaten pork since I knew I was a human

In another picture I am somewhere outside, naked, bald, and smiling from ear to ear
My mother said I was mostly catatonic, unlike my brother

In my earliest memories, I am building tall towers out of indigo blue picture books
I hid in them until they collapsed

In another memory, I am terrified of mirrors and other reflections
My mother said I imagined a world on the flipside

I used to pray too, right before bed,
and believed I had a guardian angel who looked just like me