Lucky Jefferson

It is the aperture that we cling to,
an exit that implies a return.

I remember that Halmoni was the first person to call me a bitch.

the sand squishes up between 

my toes like brown sugar

float inside you, fondle your hear

Summer in the 90's meant the word schizophrenia did not exist inside my mother

I want a crown of daisies
& seeds of joy that will Insha Allah
become flowers on my grave

The wavelength of red.
The lineage of honeycrisp

My mother still beads adhans into a rosary at the minaret

Billions of snakes

deep throating themselves into oblivion.

you laugh about buying
duck eggs from the farmstand