MONTH TO MONTH
I do it on purpose, I think. I’ve been without
a phone plan for years now and every month
I forget it’s time to pay until I can’t return
a call or a street won’t show up. My map’s frozen
and I’m nowhere on it. I imagine I’ve run away
to a forest whose dark trees blanketed in snow
make the perfect fort. I’ve decided to live here.
For an hour or so no one can find me, not even
those who aren’t calling
OFF SEASON
At the beach, instead of the book I brought,
I turn the pages of my longing
I thought I could be alone
in this dusty seaside town
Summer kitchens witness every single
passerby
Water is expensive, a banana is a meal
A door ajar off the sidewalk
frames an old man in the bluish glow
of a slot machine
I want to quietly close it
but don’t come closer
For three nights, the train sounds of leaving
grow heavier and heavier, headed
straight for my chest
The last morning, my coffee is salty,
I pack up my souvenirs of sand
When I look out the scratched train window,
it is the landscape of my longing
