Lost Dialogue (Davina)

Soil: Where have you been?
Fingers: Have we been here before?
Soil: What do you say?
Fingers: No.
Feet: But we have.
Soil: And where have you been?
Feet: Cracking on concrete, thinking of you.
         Shrouded in shoes, thinking of you.
Rocks: And us?
Seedlings: And us?
Fingers: Somehow—
Soil: Say what you mean.
Fingers: Somehow, although we don’t remember—
Soil: Yes, I think you understand.
Fingers: —we know you.
Rocks: Then turn us.
Seedlings: Then settle us.
Fingers: No, not yet!
Soil: Where have you been?
Feet: Dancing in driveways, thinking of you.
         Bundled in blankets, thinking of you.
Soil: Where have you gone?
Fingers: We were afraid. We hid.
Soil: Then come back again.
Fingers: We will.
Soil: You will.

Clover (Davina)

Here’s how
the story begins:

we were supposed
to write but
went foraging—

an odd task
in a city
park, which yet

yielded yellow
crabapples &
young clover

where we sat
with bumblebees,
the white

blossoms warm
& peppery.

The city’s September
heartbeat: footsteps
& freight trains,

one basketball on
hardcourt;

the city’s
bloodstream:
murmuring
Schuylkill,

almost
too slow
to hear.

Soon we sat
silently like
old friends, strangers

bound by
this strange
small meal,

by little
white flowers
woven together—

so maybe it
doesn’t matter
how the story
ends.

Yard Time (Meghan)

These sidewalks hum with distrust.

I long to run my hands along the chipping stone

of this old bridge and wonder how many cars have

rumbled over its pavement,

rushing to all the urgent somewheres

before time stood at attention.

I fantasize:

This cracking skin tracing the lines

of masons long dead, their sweat and ignorance

etched into cobbled texture.

When their grandmothers died

they didn’t know why.

I am lucky to breathe this moving air.

I am lucky to return to stillness,

even though its air is stagnant,

a stifling electricity.

I will stand guard and keep these idle

hands for another day.

Duplex (Davina)

Boys & girls still daydreaming romance
always believe they’ll drown in loneliness.

        As if believing we’ll drown loneliness,
        we keep talking to the wrong people.

I look for my people in wrong places
on my phone. Am I even talking?

        On my phone, am I even a person?
        Tell my friends to slow down a little.

Tell my heart to slow down a little,
caught up in the frenzy of joy & terror—

        don’t catch me up to that terrible frenzy.
        Just give me love in a build-your-own kit.

You give me love in pieces. We build our own
boys & girls, still daydreaming romance.

Aphorisms for a New Season (Davina)

The magic of holding a baby
is that the baby is so small.

Each of us speeding through the night
has a stretch of the highway we call home.

To leave friends with a full heart
is both tragedy and privilege.

The secret to a good marriage
is good teeth, I mean love.

Winter rain and fading youth
both know how to fall slowly.

The daily act of flossing may be all
that preserves a person’s life.

The secret to leaving without breaking
is to leave a piece of yourself behind.

Winter rain cannot stop a night driver
who knows the road with his eyes closed.

The magic of love is that something so big
starts out as something so small.