First Grade Autobiography
Everything swarms
of humidity and cockroaches
and mosquitos. I slap my legs
On the men of this family: to their future lovers
These men are West Virginia pickaxe, fluent
in uprooting and the duration of heat
before a harvest. How hands can dance
We all have a heat
We all have a vice we keep circling as house cats hunt / for an opening to squeeze through. Maybe it’s meaty / as a person or thin as a folded letter. Maybe it’s the cigar
Fits and Starts
Maybe that’s why churches are
buildings that block sky—we have yet to beat
out our animal instincts.
To be present in the real world
Why risk an encounter
with a fellow human
when you can just shove