I am scared of how quickly I change. I subscribe to belief systems. They say: all of life is change. Still I am scared. How quickly I change.

first the astringent and then the assuagement. rub your elbow into a lemon. have I been, here?

probably.

your mother was a monster. my mother, a goddess, of the highest proportion.

how quickly things change.

screws gathered loose in the sink, cold running water. clanking. my hands scrub them down. out, out. rust spots.

there is a store where they sell only containers. even its outside makes me nervous. I am scared of change and I am equally, if not slightly more, scared of never-- again-- changing.

we walk to the corner store. he buys me a vitamin water. we scratch our lotto ticket on the sidewalk outside.

we do not win twenty five thousand dollars.

decades-old pigeon poop compresses beneath my cold feet.

they say this is the city of dreams. I still want.

I nurse her words like they're growing inside of me. I mean really look and notice