#c0unterclockwise

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and I turn in April's stomach

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One of my favourite memories is fishing for catfish on the pier with my father. I don't think I caught more than a tree root, and when the mosquitos got too violent we went inside and watched the news.

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There's something so intimate about being up early in the morning on the porch like it's just me and my breath and I could take my shoes off if I wanted to

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I brought my ma a loaf of bread and lied about seeing some deer

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Why must you take your life into your hands like it's a snake to be wrestled? Stroke the back of its head like a drugged friend. Let it rest in your bed for one night. Ask it a question

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At times I wish to reach my fingers into my nape and pull out that part of my consciousness separated from me. Just to have a friend. I wonder if that is what mothers think before they pull us from the ground.

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It's sometime in the evening and I am praying bare-chested to the stairway up to my childhood bedroom, to the girl I might have been to come take my hand in hers and pull me somewhere I can hear the crickets.

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I haven't ridden a horse in so long I think even the smell of a barn would send me into a nostalgic craze