excerpt from the kitchen [poems.]

the earth fell in opposite directions:
a state of constants, a spider plant
on a mantle meant to humble
those too busy to sit and sip tea
or linger over the paper

you remember to breathe
only when listening
to a space heater spinning
on its axis.

if the earth forgot its orbit
the continents would crash
into themselves. would
a flailing mess
of arms and legs. Asia
and the Cape of Good Hope
playing footsie in the sea.
dolphins paying no mind, too busy
being dolphins. who knows
what they are thinking.

***

the earth turning a page:
“I’m so over spinning around you, sun.”
earth storms out, slamming the door.
here is a letter and a pair of keys.
at night, the back door’s screen
whistles a low, lonely tune. at dawn,
I wish a killdeer would pick up
the chorus. killdeer
who cons an enemy away from her nest
by faking a broken wing. you catch
the swagger in her stride?
you miss her
meaning. these
are less the secrets of the natural world
and more discoveries to be slipped
out of a back pocket. like a note
you forgot you wrote to yourself,
or a gum wrapper of a piece of gum
your throat no longer remembers.
what was his name again, earth asks
herself. oh
sun.