Issue 221, Summer 2017
I breathed on the glass
of my other lives
so I could write in the fog.
Replied yes to all,
baked cakes, swore off
certain unproductive behaviors,
such as this. I gave myself obscene permission,
then ran thudding back to safety,
as if zombie-chased. Frequently, I used
the tent, the ear of corn.
Never, if possible, irradiated cats
or vicious laughter or any of the shocked humans.
When I first heard my child echo my voice—
No, no, no!—when speaking to my other child:
face with no good gesture.