Side-step the dirt pile you’ve made
on the sidewalk and fill yourself with grass.
Dance in front of the full moon and let your fingers
touch every cold surface in Marietta.
Place all knickknacks on the floor and set fire to the tree–
sprinkle the ashes on the porch and wait.
The room is covered in dust. Shaking out the rug
in the living room won’t stop the storm.
So, you vacuum.
Turn on all the lights and hope
the cats don’t wake up.
Blankets hold you into bed
As you press head to frame,
The word grows around you.
You turn to blow hot breath
on the blankets and they float.
Children are laughing. There are six
coats stacked on top of the chair.
It’s so cold.
Trains run every six hours—counter clock
dancing. I place acorns on the tracks.
Every year, more people park on my sidewalk:
shrinking an already winding street.