Lost Girl Sonnet
Muscles jostle against waterlilies.
A scab can cover a wound for a punctuated year.
I am like this sometimes—
A cat licking chicken juice out of the bottom of the sink.
The thing about the past is that the phone always picks up.
Random facts never come to mind when you need a random fact.
Of all the ways that we call the sea, why do we never call her lover?
I wish I didn’t have these ears; they only make me lonelier.
But my earrings sure are pretty.
I am unsure where the sky ends and heaven begins.
This way the spell will remain unbroken.
My eyes are witness to the falling down of the one yellow sock—calcetine.
Discretion is gone, along with the rest of my Spanish vocabulary.
And now all my shoes have untied their neighbor’s laces.
Originally published in Loose Change, Ghost City Press, 2023.
Publishing on The Laundry Line, 4 March 2025.
