22539

rewoven:

the girls are going missing.
i hear voices in convenience store buzz
and see a crime scene in
the cherry pie on an empty shelf.
eastern hum; the sound of
emptiness floating over the water.  
here, the trees speak in tongues
that the land taught them.

the empty houses are howling–
who taught them about loss?
ghost of memories in their bones
like a birthday party, or communion,
or something equally as sad.
buttercup eucharist, i ate you
stem and all, yellow for the body
and green for the soul.

the girls are being swallowed.
the shore keeps spitting up glass,
and bones, and the snakes in the rocks
refuse to come out.
stadium lights after midnight.
the sheriff’s car is eating up
the land, searching for something
still breathing.

stand long enough among
the shivering trees to hear
the groaning on the back of the wind.
carpet of ferns to soften the step.
sometimes the image in the bark
reminds me of a dirt road, a
missing girl. stagnant sight, empty
mind. something is off.