Every year you destroyed and acquired me with all the glee of my yellow, rubber-like petals: lion’s teeth. In the too-hot May of the year you turned probably six, I watched your birthday party descend on my Dandelion Family. Was it worth the fleeting aesthetic—a day’s worth of arrangements—to erase me from your scene? I don’t grow back as easily as everyone thinks, my quick bud to seed belying my cheerful expression.

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―and during the pandemic sparks a love
for classical music, on her way to work

listens to Pavarotti, the audio clip
of his debut at twenty-six, filling in

for the great Giuseppe Di Stefano,
perhaps disappointing the audience

but they cheered when Pavarotti sang high C—
that impossible note— … Read more

It is still a ways away. It is going to go away, you know. It is still there. It is, or it isn’t. It is in the mail. It is in the console. It is the perfect fit. It is me versus you. It is something we can all
look back to. It is forward-looking. It is around here somewhere. It is the American Dream. It is far from my reach. It is only six weeks until raise time. It’s not any kind of guarantee. It is destined for nowhere. It is written in Sanskrit. It is translated to mean something unknown. It is … Read more