Look how the sidewalk rises to meet your feet

with the gentleness of mothers. The splendor

of spring trees in fuchsia bloom is yours alone.

You turn to see if he’s watching, if he’s afraid that you’ll leave, but can’t tell either way. Your jeans held your ass differently on hormones. You wonder if he can tell the difference.

Steinke artfully details how we lose our vitality, our stamina and our abilities, bit by bit, organ by joint. After the book’s tour through disease and misfortune, I’d come to feel lucky for my health.

Out in the field Mbye saw somebody just barely there, a shirtless old man, as black as Mbye, with his trousers rolled up, who looked at him without curiosity.

I have grown out of the sock drawer. a vagrant unfit holed structure that still somehow keeps you warm.

Right about now, the devil, all come hither and cosmic slop, will claim his corner. He’ll flash his chest muscles and grunt your entire Christian name in a way you ain’t never heard before. Ignore him, but keep an eye trained in his direction.

“I’m just a random white gal raised upper-middle class. But to think that I am disconnected only allows for the continuation of a system that benefits from my ignorance.”

A teacher says You don’t know how to relax. I am afraid of hair

in the drain. When I close my eyes, I see jet pollution. A silent

monk stops me walking to dinner. If you live a long life, he writes

on his miniature chalkboard, You will be old.

There is some pain, but there always is, needles weaving in and out of the changing tissue and skin. This pain is bearable, at least. Just a nose, completely superficial. My nose is her nose, thirty seconds later.