Most are heavy.

I wake up in my mother’s blood clot

& forget how to swim.

Or I fry a caramelized calm.

Call it a saturated thing,

blot the heart out.

Some days I let the pot soak.

Or I watch the grease coagulate

then scrub till the skin chips.

One morning our sink clogged,

the kitchen flooded.

Two men snaked out a clump

of microscopic events.  Like

missed phone calls & visits cut

short. One morning my voicemail

flooded. A voice said stroke

but I couldn’t remember how.

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