The Second Coming of Mary
The body is gone. / But the shape of gravity is known. We carry her, /
like a folded jacket of spirit, laying in our arms.
Five Untitled Poems
You learned to spill by breathing out /
make room for the warm marrow /
that gives this pot its power
And the Leaves, the Flowers
She was the only person who left me a note about what type of tree she is—which by the way is a magnolia. (Ask her why.)
Self-Portrait as Yurico Eating a Strawberry
Red-faced and enraged, I bite into /
red strawberries, my face blooming /
red. I read red words in a book my father /
read. All of the pages are red. All of the words a- /
re distractingly read.
i just think it’s (kinda) funny how
the priest speaks of my parents
in many ways; though the undertaker
speaks in one.
After Leaving My Father at the Hospital on Christmas Day,
everywhere I look, I see eruption. A startle /
of ice cracks off a branch above my head. /
A local dog goes from saunter to sprint /
at the sight of a squirrel.
Subject to Dust
After our discussion of childhood traumas, once /
we’ve revisited a town in this valley named / Yettem (Armenian for Eden), you press your back against my chest.
I’ll Love You Until the End of the World
The telephone is ringing and the dead on Everest answer:
“I am so cold—please
don’t cry. Everything will be fine.”