1986
i
The year you were born, your grandmother threw prophesy
out the back window, the world knuckled into pieces of jade
cracked and cowered in the chamber pot out back
belief hid in the cupboard with the spiders and soup recipes
and fear warmed mouth with a cat’s paw
ii
you scatter twigs across the kitchen linoleum like plucked eyes
you whirl marbles in the revolution of a constellation
you frighten babysitters with the cats in the alley as the clock hums
you speak with an dark eel in a dreams where rose thorns become coral
you call dandelions to slither out of a garden bucket and make their way to your hair
iii
you bargain a stray dog for the luck of mahjong titles from an old woman
you line the temple walls with a jar of acorn light
you sing in an old jar to preserve the memorized struggle of birds and prey
you dance in a stranger’s arms
your trust ladders gone up in smoke
you hold up the black river running down the mountain
iv
you ignore the sun knocking at the back door
you scatter birds, leaves, and insect shell to replace the voices classmates
you scamper beside the hearses after the school bells ring out
you darn the night into a damp net made from your hair
you crochet the strands with whale bone and tooth
you ignore another proposal for a respite from the looming on the horizon
v
the heart’s vowels rise in the trees like steam from tea
follow the flowers and the mammal bones whispering in the mountain grass
