Most people know today as tax day, but for me it’s a year since this dapper chap wandered into the department office suite while I was prepping for student conferences. After a good five minutes of watching him wait in the empty admin assistant’s office, I got up and asked if he needed anything. We chatted, we joked, we laughed. He left me his business card and a book release party flier. We independently emailed each other later in the day with Jon Lovitz in the subject line. I went to the party.
The Illinois soil opens itself every spring for your family’s bones. But then there’s California. A car accident. Valentine’s Day. You finally found the obituary of the uncle your mother swears is still alive. The one you never met. The one no one talks about. The one that got away.
fortunes in spring
You’re a handful sometimes. You know you’ll probably be up all night packing. You’re not sure you love your father anymore. Your head gets fuzzy sometimes. You don’t know what’s next. You don’t feel pretty. You sometimes lose the courage to say what you mean out loud. You hope your students understand they should not have to pay for their education. You know your grandmother only loves you conditionally. You wish your middle school counselor hadn’t seen right through you. You’re too protective of your mother. You use too much tissue paper around your favorite books. You understand now what he meant when he said your arms feel like home. You didn’t escape the stereotype of a child of divorce like you thought you had. You hope your best friend wasn’t right when he said you were broken. You want to go home.
bubble wrap punctures
deer bones strewn
about the field
a fox crosses
the frozen river