A baby bird screams for food
as I wonder if it’s too early for wine.
It is, I say to no one.
I’ve been sitting on this patio all summer,
watching time go by,
watching fatal duels
between squirrels and robins.
Every morning I relearn how to breathe.
I wanna write.
I wanna heal right this time.
This isn’t blockage.
It’s a fear of hemorrhaging.
I construct my nest,
conjure a string of lights,
flowers that waterfall out of baskets.
The bird’s chirp pierces my ears,
as I begin to type.
Dear hiring manager,
I say for the hundredth time.
please consider me, but please
consider the other artists, too.
please consider the teacher and nurse,
please consider families kept apart
or on the brink of exhaustion.
please ensure that every person
can feed themselves and their kids.
please consider the recent grads,
addicts looking down bottles and bags.
My mom reminds me to dance.
My dad sends me a verse.
He apologizes for failing me as a Christian father.
I send him Wild Geese by Mary Oliver.
You do not have to be good, Dad.
I’ve been making living eulogies for as long as I can remember.