Luxury Clouds Drowning

dry retching –
there are things that remind me – of you (still?)/ scattered across the sky / in the way the grey banks / like it could snow?

(it’s 17 degrees)

and in how my / bread rips / because the butter is too hard / and I got impatient with / the toaster.
‘families are weird’
you tell me blowing / out your dart / directly into my mouth

(my fault for having it open)

and I KNOW / there are thousands of worm-hole openings / conversations I could start / among the clutter / of what we pick apart to hold / as our friendship

(I’m leaving tomorrow)

free-held early adult / of suburban walking home with too many groceries so the plastic bags we shouldn’t have bought dig into our palms and leave fighting marks until they’re gone / is momentarily over.

It will begin again and stop Adani.
For us and more likely for others.

and I guess too, we will find our own lanes/ in swimming pools in the open ocean / wonder at what made us whole / misplace that we even had grandmothers.

keep drowning but forget / call it home

(this is what they now label stoic optimism)