maria, maria, maria, my soul has undone itself &

now i am a flask filled up with firelight, mouthy

& wide-open like a summertime wound. thunderstorm

last night left a starling lying broken in the red mud

of grandmother’s garden, & i thought to name it after

you & her, both in such close proximity to death,

but not quite there. the bird is named nothing, though,

& my grandmother’s gasoline-yellow eyes watch its body

unwind & marrow into palmetto state dirt. o maria, how

does it feel to become fully content in chasing strangers?

you, the saint of undying; you have always owned the white

dress look. teach me to be ruthless & yet still lovely in the

becoming of all these eons of annihilation. all these eons

you & my grandmother will spend haunting.

---