~Sappy Daze~ Day 2

Summer Sun Tastes More 

memorable than mulberries, a fruit 
more known for staining
the sidewalks and chalk 
sketches than its sweet taste. 

Still, I like Autumn better: the smell of 
a pumpkin’s pimply skin. Scenes 
of sinking skulls that trick 
children for treats. Screams 
of scattering leaves. The sweet taste 
of fear, the chilly air. 
Feeling the euphoria of fading 
warmth before freezing.

Wolverine Stew: Making Plans

Tonight I saw

A cord wrapped round a bike

Without its wheels

I wonder whether the wheels or chord

Were there first

I wonder where it goes

The sky is clear except for

The wisps of orange built over the

Day, still the moon is always

Visible, always getting closer to full

I once saw a line of crows calling to

One another across the Diag, from

Downtown to the cemetery to the woods

Today, there were four

Are they here early or late?

I hope to see them all again

Filling budding branches with

Black-feather leaves

The snow melts away, comes back, melts

Away, and I’m not sure where the day went

I just know there’s still more of it

And somewhere in that time inside my room of

Half-lit string lights I’ll have to replace someday

And in those late-night walks, trying to find Orion each time

Remembering a stage formed from

Paper hyacinths and rubber chickens

And in those moments talking about

How falling forever was high school me’s heaven

And taking friends to see the sunset

I think I might be ok

~Sappy Daze~ Day 1

At Night

Go to the terrace and look down. There 
on the ground dances a fairy. The Moon is 
fond of her. It tries to impress her with a
dress woven together by clouds of silk. 
She runs away by climbing a ladder 
crafted from the starlight unrolled
from her gown and tosses it out over
the sky. In her wake lies the 
empty stage of overgrown ivy.

- Sappy

My Golden Shovel from “Always For the First Time” by Andre Breton, inspired by the parties on campus

Wolverine Stew: Valentine

Cooling chocolate and a pile of

Roses right next to symmetrical puns

Thawing snowy sugar suffused with guava

Dry branches waving in winter winds

A book of cryptids and a mycelial song

I put close to the nerves on my heart

Hoping pale moon eyes and paper ravens

Can reciprocate the joy of

Being with you

Patchwork made of moon and stars

Resting in the theatre

Music blaring in the night sky

Two voices singing, laughing

I’m washing dishes and already she has been hit by a drunk driver

Shot in her bed by police

Her heart fizzled out from loving too much

Many times before going to bed I’ve seen her forgetting my name

I see someone else screening my calls 

Answering with one-word messages before I finally find out the inevitable

I’m in the shower and she’s drowning

From her own blood, in a lake

My father is screaming, my sister is crying, and I’m making funeral arrangements

Trying to remember what the six primary seasonings were, 

where the red beans and rice recipe was whether or not pattern goes with pattern

I want to record our conversations so I have messages to scroll through but I keep thinking about when I get to the end of them

When no one agrees with me

Or sees my side of things

When she finally picks up I remember

I have to stop practicing for my mother’s death