Lemons, mushrooms, and garlic buds-tongue of dog and toe of frog. Do you still see god in her moon, R? Snakes in my boots, eating cucumbers, tasting the dirt they grew in, thinking about what you said, I felt low as tobacco. My face is red with sorrow; my breasts are made of straw. I was your third grader with a blue star on my forehead. Remember, R? We were two meteors wandering loose in a tiny playroom—-there’s no translating that field of ponies. Like a magical mother and a farming father, bones from the pond, bulky hearts from artichoke fields, we kept yarn for fingers and made our own little family of cats’ cradles and witches’ brooms out of cotton reds. Then, pus ran like milk on the barn floor and ate up all the love like fish, and I thought ‘Well, hey, if the moon’s bad and all the money’s spent, then the bar fly must go on singing!’ And I was feeling pretty alright, living off of apples and beef jerky, blind with love, crying nightly for horses, until someone came along and said, ‘She doesn’t really have any friends, only drugs and men.’ But whatever. Last time I checked, I was state lines and lifetimes away from everyone, all of that, and le bullshit! The wind is wild, my dog is always by my side, and raspberry tea keeps me sane! I’m really excited for these next few months! Fishing, horses, orchards, dresses, moonlight, canyons, brown skin, vegetable gardens, honey lemonade, houseflies, constellations, foraging for herbs and flowers, summer magic, pow-wows, road trips, yeahyeah! But for now, I’m going to go make a sage gargle for this dang sore throat and eat stuffed tomatoes!
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