Next Season

It would be my luck
that on suchnight,
such a night, indeed,
a tree would hit me.

Branch hung low
banging on this head,
cutmeinthegut
tipmeintobed
I burn the mattress –
some hot knife through
you know.

Think about it
and when I think about it
only depression
minor chest
compressions
drowning in a cup of water, I
laugh.

buckledover
sunflower heads at sunset,
necks bent that eastern flow,
the night beheads me, as it does you,
and my seeds stick to the soil.

There’s a slight chill in the air
it’s me –
Queen of the couch and
my thoughts storm up

thinking that it is Saturday or Sunday or February, but
it is Friday night and I am home.