our toes popped out the weave of jelly shoes
and rolls of puffy stickers got spent on old
butterfly clips and scrunchies busted
and tore up our long tight-braided hair
nylon barbie backpack lightup velcro sneakers
all our fashions and our juvenilia
have become our trash
we were…


“repetition affirms identity
by seizing again
and not by imposing a rainbow
(that necktie of cosmic wedded bliss)
equally fleeting as fair”
“More and more weightless
my body: the clothes on the pole
are an image of me I agree with.”
“Oozed so in crimson bubbles”
— Emily Dickinson 28
“Five hundred years have passed, but our breakup wasn’t final,
and the messages between us never stopped. The wars
did not change the gardens of my Granada. One day I’ll pass its moons
and brush my desire against a lemon tree… Embrace me and let me be reborn
from the scents of sun and river on your shoulders, from your feet
that scratch the evening until it weeps milk to accompany the poem’s night…”

- Eleven Stars Over Andalusia by Mahmoud Darwish

Bunny Rogers