mmdccxliv

Waves are made of the same water rotating tirelessly.
                                                —Cassie Lewis

I used to love Hal-
loween. Today,
this one is somber,
at the end of a
near catastrophic
October. Some-
how I rise,
surely more
zombie than
human, in
search of
motivation,
inspiration,
happiness—
all the things
that lead to
cash rewards
on every pur-
chase. They
turned my only
remaining bank
into a café. It’s
still a bank, but
it’s wearing
a chainstore
coffeeshop
costume.
Adopting
a pet can
change its
world and
yours.

Grace here = cash.
               —Cassie Lewis

mmdccxliii

ocean static
kite and salt
walk directly
into the wave

if sex
were you and me
hands clenched
with whitecap

the thrill
of the crest
to our
lips

mmdccxlii

beached
we dry
our fingers

the moon pulls
our shadows
into the mist

mmdccxli

The Burden of Living Off the Graciousness of Others

I really enjoy it when, say, a
generic brand of strawberry soda
has, rather, a distinct cream soda
taste. And this happens on occasion.
To me, it does…. Anyone else?

The act of engagement. Engaging in

person (irl, non-virtual). Yet for all of 

the day’s generosity, the beautifully 

spun green and gold floating backwards
through the internet, past the new

social blockade and landing here in
my very lap, it is that act I miss the
most. Nose to nose talk done not by
fingers (which carry about contorted,
flying through the space just in front of

our eyes, if not locked between a pair
of them). Voices the steam from which
we can feel on our cheeks and words that
are spoken with our entire bodies…. My
eyes, your eyes. Eyes that know me and

mine that know you, eyes that have a
history between them, can work to recall 

times such as these. See the both of us 

in something of a tight orbit, air quotes,
a three dimensional thumbs-up, a held

but spinning glass of wine, building
suspense, finally tilted so it’s almost
spilled, until we are speaking a decibel
or two louder and our faces flush. We
seem to care, as if we’ve each a bit of

something at stake, a small piece of
you and a small piece of me which we
offer the other or carefully take. We’ll
talk the afternoon away, just like we
used to, of course, through a wonderful

evening we’ll chatter away. It’s so lovely

to see you, perhaps you could stay? Let’s
say for dinner? Or even the night? It has
been forever, there’s so much to relay.
Oh, please say you’ll do so, I find my

self texting while thinking so loud that I
notice the sound of my very own voice. I
look up embarrassed then back at the key-
board before reminiscing, soda in hand, caught 

hung on a moment, completely carried away.

mmdccxl

Sure there are eucalypts but they seem as out of place as we do.

                                                                      —Cassie Lewis 

 

I have joined

the leagues:

I am grooming

at the public

library.  I am,

to be precise,

clipping my finger-

nails into a can

of trash near the

poetry section.

But this act

definitely falls

easily under the

category of The

Leagues Who

Groom Them-

selves at the

Public Library.

Next thing you

know, I’ll be tak-

ing a sponge bath

in stall number two

on floor one – in

the only public

restroom at the

public library.

When I last used

to come regularly

to the main library –

to browse the poetry

section, no less –

I would often refer

to the men’s room

as the homeless

showers.  The next

thing I know....

mmdccxxxix

Achizm #3

     It’s been days since I opened the book
     my face is watching.
                                    —Cassie Lewis

always peeking
down the wrong
hedgerow /
squatting
at the most
inappropriate
vegetables