Sonnet: Dear Fire
I was very scared when I smelled your smoke
and sniffed about my apartment looking for you
and glimpsed your brutal dancing reflection on the metal sheen of the toaster-oven.
I was so happy that the reflection was coming from the outside
in the garden where the white people were making you
out of gasoline and strung-together bales of sticks.
For about ten seconds I thought I’d have to fight you with water
and perhaps “die in the struggle.” My heart
is still pumping outrageously
from the fear you called up in me.
Ambivalent Picnic
(after Joe Ceravolo)
Mistook, no, wet
streets, until
not a pita-pocket you chime in
you love,
with axe. What will
you do to me when I grow up? I wait
for your face, who
are you and what are you
doing here? Would it
help you have me
do animal things and
sort some pie? Is appellation
important to you and if so
woof woof woof I am
a dog uncomfortable in a strange park
no leash or tags. The children call
you an ugly girl who cares I am not
at all influenced by their opinions.
Hide with me here under the shade
of this tree ugly girl and plums,
lie down and plums or thermos of two o’clock mistook
no, wet streets, until
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