#c0unterclockwise

and I turn in April's stomach

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.

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

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

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

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.

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.

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