One Hundred and Four.


Izzy circle


Hup! Hup! Hup!
I’m in your backyard, lying in the grass,
trying to flip myself to standing
sun blaring in my eyes like K-pop
addictive and sweet and secretly knife-edged.

your geraniums look sexy from this angle
and I want to clamber under the foliage,
find some cool shade to drink into my parched skin
curl into the undergrowth and breathe in
the smell of wet dirt mingling with my hair.


Sarah circle


Who could have guessed the wonder of a freshly washed shirt
Pressed sweet and cool against an upturned face
Who could have known the beauty of the powdery bloom
Laid across the cheek of the season’s new olives
Of the tentative peep-show of a thousand green weeds
Of the crunchy collapse of a walnut shell underfoot
Of the burbling radio three houses away
Of the lazy slow fan-dance of the nets on the trees

God isn’t dead, he’s just left the building.



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