But not the fireworks, at least not on our street. The neighbor whose puppies we lift back over the shoddy chain link to their mama—the neighbor who, before all this passed my husband carnitas the same way—is celebrating the pursuit of happiness as defined by the rush of lighting shit on fire. With guests. Music’s up, Bar-B-Q is on & my husband is out running interference hoping to keep the 3-year-old in the part of the yard where neither spit nor bottle rockets can reach… Read more

I ask The Ballerinas to watch my form. Am I doing it?

The Ballerinas scintillate. Not really,
they reply, one must use reason to
become an exemplar of measured
forces, symmetries, order and studied illusions. One must live, completely
at ease, in an element comparable
to fire. We excel in immanence.

My toes refuse to fully uncurl after class, blistered and cashew-like. I ask The Ballerinas if I’ll ever… Read more

Whenever I arrive, walls
weaken the swell of the bay, someone
passes around
a jug of rice wine, rides a caribou, gets
married
in the jungle, kills an animal then
drinks its blood, lights
a fire, roasts a pig.
It is a marvel, each time
clouds of peach, rose, and
brilliant orange,
a sunrise that envelopes, then below
7,000 islands of green.
And if by sea… Read more