It has a texture like roof tar
when I tell her I don’t even
enjoy Bundt cake, I just wanted
to do something productive with
my day after being laid off.
The uncles of Palestine are a different breed of men. They can spot newcomers from one end of Jerusalem to another. With a warm smile, they ask if you need help. Where you are going. Where you are from. Give you precise directions. They know many can’t return there. They welcome you to the Holy Land anyway.
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And your science now tells
You: what can I ever know?
All is a quantum topsy-turvy,
And mother nature part
Whore, part illusionist….
My old friend and I went to a restaurant for lunch,
a ramshackle little place, but my friend told me
the food was great—and it was!
Oracles write prophecy on leaves
for a reason—the loophole.
“Your hair is ninety percent of who you are,” my mother intones as she drags the wide tooth comb through my unyielding hair. “The correct hairstyle can make a plain woman beautiful and a beautiful woman outstanding.
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Bitches who can’t be told no. Bitches who are always right. Bitches who need to have the last word. Bitches who wish you’d try them. Bitches who bite motherfuckers’ heads off. Bitches who won’t let anyone touch you. Bitches who’ve given me everything they have.
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However lost or uncertain I get, however washed out by lengthy periods of fitting in, I’ve
been reminded that I am at heart okay—my weirdness is right there in whatever notebook I carry
with me, always tucked away in that blue canvas bag or another.
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