me listening to Jesse Welles and crying is my new vibe,

crying because i'm sad, crying because I'm moved, crying--

my round full cheeks have given way
to hollows that reveal my grandmother’s cheekbones

my hair curls and no longer waves
to hint at my fathers curls

And in my coastal home town  the sun has consistently appeared through every season bringing back a slight clustering of freckles over the bridge of my nose with an array of recent sun spots over my upper lip and at my temples

My left wisdom tooth against all odds decided to exit in my thirties and push my teeth forward; I have a different smile now

while a new circular mole has appeared under my right eye. naturally I begin to look like someone different. Don’t know if  my body is a new temple breaking from the past or if it’s honoring it by stitching me closer to those that came before

I like the quiet way that life yields itself to its own tongue or torso tripping on its own soles when it hits a sidewalk
how clumsy can be poetic and you can laugh even after you fall as long as you are in good company

you walk
no matter the direction
this dream
      never changes much
they put their foreheads
to yours And smile

in some they are wolves
that sleep at your side

in others travelers
that gather
with you in the forest

in others they
   point toward a tiger
lurking in your chest

you walk
        and they protect
nothing is wild

        (not even a dream)

why are you doing this
       the longest day of summer of has come
and you inch towards the darkness

arresting migrants off the street
       law you call it, crime you name it
to flee for refuge somewhere else

why are you doing this
       there is a refugee, a cave lion, a tiger,
a jaguar who traveled far & wide

they are not weak; they are not alone
       you cover your face and take them
but one day when the light is the shortest cat

out in the alley watching
          this unlit terror fade the tribunals
will begin and they will knock

at your door looking for Schutzstaffel
          & the camp garrison
and ask you why were you doing that?

I should have told you that there were no coves to run to on this beach’s coast; when I think of you, there is only sadness. The waves crash and the rocks are all ragged, what you hide is yours forever, your responsibility—it isn’t my boat or oar to tend to and maintain

warheads and bombers
      are tied clatterings
of just-married cans tying us to war
again

Diplomacy should have married
the bride, but here we are
to war again

Someone steal the bride
someone make the picket signs

For I, too, refuse
to go to war