Dream Ending in a Host of Angels Zipping Me…

Once & could-be-future girl, believe we’re not like you. Sure,

the pickup was tucked in dusk, shed all carefree w/ its sunburn

shimmer. Still nothing new to say about the creek, how reeds

get moony, or when we saw pelicans hold hands & gossip.

But y’all must wanna get this close to soft, so here goes: spool

heels, silver sleeves w/ pink accents, kind to stifle the trailer

static, same color Dot says Granny passed in. Past since good

& we did keep her pearls for you, kissed the hems holy, darned

the moth marks back to true. Goes: none of it imitation. Goes:

we are her barefoot bloodline, butter in the salt pan. Trust

you’re not from this sweat but still a goodness. You once most

only boy in the yard, laugh into your born polish. Step-joy,

uncousin: home is a name you bless in silk & cinch. Believe

we’re all alive here. Come hum this lace blood-warm. Glisten.

Source: Poetry (January 2019)