On the ferry from
I spotted a pair of eyeglasses
dangling off the platform.
I ran to the deck searching for the rest of the person.
I thought it unpatriotic to spell camping with a K
of rapidly reproducing bunnies.
We reached a desert plateau worn down
by years of gods and their wars.
We rolled down sand dunes into the lap of
who didn’t look like me,
sound like me, smell like me.
I preferred the crawdads in the pond
below the willow—
they were in kindergarten too.
Heath Shepard skinny-dipped in front of me
(my eyes were closed)
in the moonlight of
He liked me because I outran him.
I liked him because he didn’t mind
not holding my hand.
Sometimes we ran in Lorca’s park.
Words fell with the leaves.
Trees are greener in another language.
Laura Ingalls Wilder was born in
I begged my parents to take me to her Big Woods.
“Let’s make popcorn balls instead,” said my mom.
The molasses would have tasted sweeter
in a log cabin.
Once on the Sacramento River Dad cut the engine.
We drifted to the buzz of riparian radio.
Up between the dreadlock vines of river trees
a colony of egrets swayed—a white cloud.
When I waterski they follow me,
a train of wings.
I’d never seen a dale until
In the woods, we found a small wooden door
carved into the trunk of a tree.
“For fairies,” Mary said.
A little girl stacked sticks nearby
to keep them warm in winter.
We biked through a banana plantation
and an angry shepherd threw rocks.
We sang in Hebrew when we found
Every Passover I miss that exile.
My first day back in
I found a pair of glasses in my neighbor’s shrub.
I’ve searched but I can’t find the rest of the person.