hundred years of this landscape behind
& before us continues to stir — even if
Lord, it’s not true
That my faith is cooling.
It’s just that people
Are saying that candle smoke
Has caused cancer in church mice.
And I also worry that candle light
Is too weak to reach your cloud.
this pink daughter of the river’s magic
always looks, to explorers,
like she’s smiling.
Dear sir, your air of authority
leaves me lost. Eases me from
a place of ease.
to a worm of discontent.
It lodged beneath the heart,
rubbed our frayed nerves,
gnawed at the gut, spleen,
ovaries. Filth
Their stories didn’t kill me
but I would die if I didn’t
tell them to you.
looking inward and outward
at once before and after
seeking a now that can breed
futures