behind her stack
of self-help books
hiding
from the simple fact
she doesn't like to read
late night
in the colored mist
of neon glow
a masseuse massages
her own feet
after the rain
a cloud of mosquitoes—
in my heart
the dull sting
of your parting kiss
sink or swim
my father threw me
into a pond—
now he's yelling at me
to get out of the tub
the squirrels
eat my mother's hard pears—
over coffee
we discuss what leftovers
would make the best supper
