Published in: https://gunpowderpress.com/product/women-in-a-golden-state/
The fire carries on with the logs.
Clearly there’s something going on between them.
Like when we first met and harvested each other,
not with fire rather with flesh.
If our lives are stanza breaks,
little rooms inside a house,
can we really discern
which room we’ll next enter?
—Go ahead. Pin a dance on me.
I’m turning into an Autumn leaf—
The day my fallopian tubes asked
me to play hopscotch is
the day my rambunctious expletives
burst into lava flows