Rest in peace cheerleading tryouts and Burnie Norris.
Now, you can get McMuffins all day

and McRibs in November.

I stand alone, looking
across layers
of the ruffled horizon, fearing

it might come too early,
too soon

Edie, with your long lashes,
spiderwebs featuring the most elite spiders;
they never went above 14th Street.

They say the first thing
you should do, should you
find yourself unexpectedly released into
the immense void
is to exhale.

You’ve had your moments & your reckless abandon.
Eggshell skull theory: you can’t know how much slapstick
a life can take. It does not absolve you
of responsibility.

Because it has already happened--even though it is happening for you right now.
Because you should prepare yourself for disappointments, or maybe the apocalypse.

You start to notice the same phenomenon
in real life. It’s harmless enough—
the new postal carrier looks like the old
grocery store clerk, minus the apron and plus
a blue hat and pants.

And I watch her from my tan bean bag
with my black UGG slippers and camo joggers
eat brainz while looking on point, become the leader
of a human smuggling operation, nab the villains

admittedly your teaching methods
caused chaos stress exasperation
exploriationis always bold

I didn’t think growing up
would mean staring at
so many tiny screens.
I thought it would be
expansive like the universe
and ant hills.

so where are we now then,
this strange waiting place
standing by our windows,
a sinking feeling slipping in

I slip neon string onto my finger
like a noose
like a noose to perform
to perform tricks

This time around I don't
wait for the sky to clear because
there you are on your knees
begging for forgiveness, begging for
me

She’s talking about my sister and me—
roommates and where-did-their-mother-go-wrong
women sharing an apartment I wish
were a sexy British flat in early
2000s

It isn’t like a mother to stumble. I must stumble
straighter, my Mom would say. Quickly to
the school drop-off, nubby nails strumming the
wheel. Grinding & releasing teeth like kitchen
drawers, their constant roll.

Some women pray
the roof will hold; wait for the storm to turn.
Some women strike out on their own,
bolts of lightning from an unforgiving sky.

let me in and we’ll watch reruns of Seinfeld
deep sea diving on the armchair, you can melt my otter-pop tongue
from the heat of your mouth. my fingertips are freezing out here, the air conditioning
feels like a Manhattan blizzard and i think the fake plants are judging me.

From her place at the rear
she checks her hair.

It is a reflex familiar to her
as breathing, as dear as her name, Jennifer,

or the transcripts she memorized
by flashlight, under the covers, as a girl enthralled with flight.

But I’ve always had a special bond with birds. Years ago at Tenney Park in Madison when it wasn’t winter, I’d go listen to the ducks lampoon the world so often that they’d waddle up and sit with me, though I never fed them. One let me pet its emerald neck.