Contingency Plans

You are trying to hide the stone you stole
from the stomach of a giant. It’s not as messy 
as you think but in this world 
there’s always evidence of something. 
A bloody footprint. A single strand 
of silver hair. You can never be too careful, 
your grandmother warned you, and who knows 
how many wolves she’s slaughtered 
and convinced the night to swallow. 
And I know you think this story 
isn’t about you, but listen 
to the quiet sighs of the winds, 
the subtle shifting of organs. 
Sometimes the things we need 
are impossibly hidden. One day 
the rocks from someone else’s journey 
will come crashing through your house. 
One day they’ll carry your daughter 
away. How quickly will you burn 
the woods of your past? How far 
will you go to get her back? 

What We Become 

Your mother woke up choking on her heart 
so she removed it. Humans 
can be logical that way sometimes. Like 
the little boy who was bullied 
until he sharpened his fingers into knives. 
We solve one problem 
and create another. You can’t 
take it back, your mother said 
so you clasp your hands together 
as if to pray. You remember the night 
you blinked and the lights in your room 
became fireflies. You still dream 
of finding them, of dissecting 
their wings. A girl down the street 
grew feathers on her back 
and when the wind catches her just right, 
she flies. Your mother never cries 
anymore and you know better 
than to complain, to confess 
your fear of darkness, of open spaces, 
how sometimes you wake to the sound 
of your own beating organs, disappointed 
the arms around you are still your own. 

Salt Can Make a Small Wound Sing 

He offers me a fish head 
like it’s the slimy shiny front 

of an airplane dissected 
from its body. Rib cage open 

to the sky. Every night 
the moon steals the day’s memories 

of our bodies. This boy and I 
find comfort in the shadow’s 

restoration. What if everything 
we lost came back to us 

broken? Fish, he says, 
and then touches his stomach. 

I reach my hand up to the dark, 
fingers splayed like a wish. Like the night 

might fill the emptiness with stars.